


Sincerity

by helens78, Telesilla



Category: GoldenEye (1995) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Bondage, Breathplay, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Fisting, Humiliation, Master/Slave, Multi, Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-12
Updated: 2004-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 87,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/pseuds/Telesilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the deep dark alternate universe of Chiaroscuro, Sean Bean meets Pierce Brosnan and thinks he's on the verge of finding what he's always needed.  He is painfully, painfully wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This story would not have been possible without the support and help I got from the rest of the Chiaroscuro authors, including dragonkal (who helped me develop Sean with the two arcs we wrote before this, _Cruelty_ and _Captivation_ ) and especially [Telesilla](http://archiveofourown.org/users/telesilla), who wrote a few of these chapters with me and really helped me nail down what Sean was thinking in these early days. Thank you!

Sean walks up the path to Pierce's door. It's not like Sean to be late, and he's not -- he's still in the five-minute window where it counts as being "on time" -- but he's not early, either, and he's made no particular attempt to be punctual. He has a case of beer tucked under his arm, the default birthday present for someone he doesn't know very well, and he has a feeling the beer will be forgotten an hour or so into the evening. He and Pierce have been talking, flirting, joking for weeks. Somewhere along the line innuendo turned to promise. They've both known this was going to happen; it was only a matter of timing.

Sean pushes the doorbell and then steps back politely, into view of the door's peephole. He likes Pierce; likes Pierce's dry wit, and his ability to grin using only his eyes, and the way his smile shows teeth. He enjoys working with Pierce; the two of them are taking their jobs very seriously, despite the constant temptation to give in to the campy hilarity of any Bond film and go over-the-top for the delivery of some of their lines. It's not hard staying in character around Pierce, whether it's early scenes where they're supposed to be best friends or later scenes where they're trying to kill each other. All in all, Sean's had worse jobs.

Pierce opens the door, flashing one of those teeth-baring grins of his. "Made it," he says, stepping aside to let Sean enter. "Have any trouble finding the place?"

"No, not at all." Sean hands the beer to Pierce, who gives it a look and carries it off toward the kitchen. Sean follows behind, uncertain whether he should have taken his shoes off in the entryway, whether he should have put his jacket somewhere. "The directions were good," he adds.

"My directions are always good," Pierce murmurs, distracted by the need to find somewhere in the refrigerator to put the beer. The kitchen is full of gleaming steel and dark black stone, and on the island in the center of the kitchen there's a bottle of wine chilling, with two glasses beside it. Pierce finishes getting the beer into the refrigerator and turns to the wine. "I realize you're more of a beer type, but I thought we'd have wine with dinner. Do you mind?"

"No, not at all." Sean shakes his head. While Pierce pours wine, Sean realizes he can smell dinner -- chicken of some kind, he thinks, and the kitchen is full of the scent of rosemary, oregano, and other assorted herbs. "Dinner smells fantastic," Sean offers. "Do you cook often?"

Another smile works its way over Pierce's face. "No, not particularly. Do you?"

"There was a time I could burn water," Sean admits, smiling back. "Not awful with a recipe, though, not these days."

"Good to hear. Won't starve that way." Pierce hands Sean a glass of wine and holds his up at toasting level. "To birthday celebrations with friends."

"Cheers, yeah," Sean grins, touching his glass to Pierce's and sipping at the wine. The flavor is light, the liquid chilled to absolute perfection. _Do you mind_ , Sean thinks. It's not as if he doesn't appreciate a good wine every so often.

"The dining room's just through there," Pierce says, gesturing with his glass. "Why don't you go in -- take my glass, too, would you -- and I'll be in with the food in a moment."

Sean takes Pierce's glass and nods. "Sure."

Pierce has already turned to the oven and is pulling on oven mitts. "There's a good lad," he murmurs, distracted, and Sean gives his back another small smile before taking up the wine bottle, too, and heading into the dining room.

The table's been set, and set elaborately. The chair at the head of the heavy dark wood table is almost imposing, high-backed with elaborately carved arms, and Sean knows immediately this is where Pierce sits. He sets the wine glass down, next to the water glass which is already full and waiting. There are bread plates, salad plates, dinner plates. Cloth napkins, folded the way you'd see in a nice restaurant. Two forks -- Sean has a dizzying moment where he remembers the way silverware works under these conditions, which is to start at the outside and work one's way in -- and there's already quite a bit of food on the table. A large bowl with salad tossed in what Sean thinks might be a raspberry vinaigrette. A breadbasket, covered with a cloth that has an embroidered "B" on it. Things like butter, pepper, salt, all in chrome or glass containers. There are candles, too, light grey ones in glass candlesticks.

Sean's seat, at Pierce's side instead of down at the end of the eight-foot table, is set the same way Pierce's was, with all the elaborate plates and forks and the precise attention to detail. Sean puts his glass down and runs his hand over the back of his chair. It matches Pierce's, but it lacks the arms, as do the rest of the chairs at the table. It's a fairly traditional setup, now that Sean thinks about it; the head of the table, and everyone else. There's only one captain. He grins, and he slips out of his jacket, throwing it over the seat of the chair next to his.

Pierce steps through the doorway and brings the main course out, and the scent is enough to make Sean's mouth water. "You don't give yourself enough credit," Sean says. "For someone who doesn't cook particularly often, you have me nearly at your feet just from the smell of it."

Pierce arranges the tray on the table and begins serving -- salad onto the salad plates, rolls onto the bread plates, chicken onto the dinner plates. "A moment," he says, and heads back into the kitchen; he comes back with herbed risotto, which goes to the dinner plates as well. After giving the table one last look, Pierce sits down. He looks up at Sean and grins. "All right, Sean; you may sit now."

Something about the way he says it -- teasing, but not -- has Sean grinning hard and struggling to keep from flushing. "Thank you," he says, and takes his seat. "Did this take you long?"

"Not at all," Pierce demurs. He starts with the salad, and Sean follows suit. The lettuce is crisp, the vinaigrette light enough not to sting but present enough for Sean to appreciate the different flavors in it. Pierce is not giving himself _nearly_ enough credit for the food; if the rest of the meal is as good as the salad, Sean will indeed be at Pierce's feet.

"It's not fair," Sean offers. "It's your birthday. I'd have been glad to take you out somewhere for it."

"There's nothing quite like the quiet comforts of home, though," Pierce counters. "And you're always welcome to make it up to me. With something _other_ than a case of beer," he teases.

"Ah, yeah," Sean nods. "I'll have to think of something. Don't suppose you have a general list of things you'd like, and I could just pick from that?"

"Oh, but that wouldn't be nearly as interesting as watching you try to figure something out." Pierce moves from salad to dinner roll; he nods at the butter in the center of the table. "Be a good lad and pass me the butter, would you?"

Sean does, noting idly that this is the second time Pierce has called him 'lad', even if indirectly. This isn't something that's happened on set, and Sean wonders whether it's the birthday or being in his own home that has Pierce using that particular word. He doesn't know whether he likes it or not. It sends a slightly uncomfortable, edgy feeling through him, and it has his cock twitching. Sean can easily imagine that word slipping out under other circumstances -- Pierce on top of him, one hand on Sean's shoulder, _there's a good lad..._

"Would you care for some?" Pierce asks, handing the butter back to Sean. Sean takes it gratefully, glad for the interruption to his thoughts. The last thing he needs is to spend dinner having mental fantasy sex with Pierce; reality never quite lives up to fantasy, after all.

The rolls are as good as the salad, and Sean says as much. Pierce deflects the compliment with easy grace, and Sean gets the impression it's going to be like that all night. Pierce almost seems shy tonight, and Sean wonders if that's going to translate to the rest of the evening as well. Pierce has never seemed demure on set, and Sean never got the impression he was overly modest. Still, Pierce also doesn't seem like the type to insist on topping, and most men who find Sean attractive notice the muscles and the confident stride of his steps, and they expect him to take command and fuck them into the floor. It's a stereotype Sean is not at all comfortable with; just once, just _once_ he'd like to be able to give everything up and let someone else...

"What are you thinking about?" Pierce asks. He cuts a piece of chicken and tastes it, nodding approval.

"I -- nothing," Sean says, shaking his head. He turns to his own piece of chicken and takes a bite, more to get his mouth full than to taste anything. The flavor almost takes him by surprise, as a result, and he looks back up at Pierce immediately, humming an approving noise.

"Like that, do you?" Pierce grins. "I don't think it's half-bad myself."

"Stop that," Sean says. "Stop being so bloody modest. It doesn't suit you."

Pierce raises an eyebrow and takes a small sip of wine. "All right," he murmurs. "It's damn good, then."

"Better," Sean sighs. "I'm sorry. I'm not fond of false modesty."

"I'm not, either," Pierce agrees. "Although I'm rather a fan of true modesty. It's always enjoyable getting past that particular obstacle."

To his surprise -- and terrible embarrassment -- Sean ends up blushing. _Damn it._ There are times he loathes being fair-skinned; any sense of chagrin or surprise, under the right circumstances, tends to lead to a mottled red color, usually working its way up from his neck. He looks down at his plate, concentrating on the food in front of him and trying not to think about what Pierce meant by modesty and obstacles.

"Sean?" Pierce murmurs. "What _were_ you thinking about earlier? You'll have to forgive me if I pry; I've learned the answer 'nothing' almost invariably means the other man was thinking something quite important."

"I don't know that it was dinner conversation," Sean mumbles.

"So much the better. It's not as if I only invited you here in order to feed you."

God, and that just makes Sean blush harder. "No, right," he says, voice trailing off. He finally ends up dropping his hands into his lap and twisting his fingers into the napkin. _For God's sake, keep eating. He's going to think something's the matter, and all it really is is that you're fucking nervous and you want this evening to go well. Say something._

"Sex," Sean blurts out, and cringes. "Christ. I was thinking about sex."

"Well, that's delightfully direct, isn't it?" Pierce laughs. "Good. I've been thinking about sex since you rang my doorbell. Anything in particular, or just sweating, grunting, lust-filled mental images?"

Sean is definitely not going to tell Pierce what he was thinking about, not in any sort of detail. He's heard the phrase _pushy bottom_ a few times in his life, and does not want those words coming out of Pierce's mouth. "Sweating, grunting, lust-filled mental images seem about right," Sean admits, looking up and grinning. He's drawing on his talents as an actor to pull it off, and he doesn't know whether Pierce believes him or not.

"Sean..." Pierce reaches out, and Sean's first response is to flinch away. He covers that quickly, though, and leans into Pierce's touch, whatever in hell it might end up being. Pierce slides fingers into Sean's hair and grips the back of his neck, hard enough to hold him completely still. "I don't think I give a damn about dinner. Do you?"

The _grip._ Christ. Sean shakes his head and tries to swallow. "No," he whispers. "I don't give a damn about dinner, either."

"Get your jacket," Pierce says, nodding toward it. He takes both his glass of wine and Sean's and stands up.

A bit confused, but willing to follow Pierce's lead, Sean takes his jacket and slides it on. Pierce leads him out a pair of glass doors to the backyard, and hands Sean his wine glass.

"Beautiful night, isn't it?" Pierce asks. He looks up at the sky; it's a particularly clear evening, and the stars are bright.

Sean looks up and lets out a soft breath. "It is that," he murmurs.

Pierce walks up behind Sean and slides an arm around his waist. "I'm glad you're here." His lips are practically against the back of Sean's neck, and Sean breathes out quietly, not quite leaning into Pierce's embrace. "Tell me what you like," Pierce murmurs. Now his lips _are_ against Sean's neck, and Sean shivers. His hands clench into fists at his sides. "Do you need seduction? Foreplay for hours with candles going? You don't seem the type for that."

"What type do I seem like?" Sean whispers.

"I haven't quite figured it out," Pierce muses. "I think you're not precisely what you appear, and that intrigues me to no end. Let's try this."

Sudden, sharp pain -- Pierce's teeth on the back of Sean's neck, and Sean goes stock-still, trying not to gasp, trying not to move away from those teeth. The bite wasn't unconscious, wasn't done in the heat of passion -- Pierce _bit_ him, deliberately, and Sean has never been so hard.

Pierce finds that out when he reaches down and slides his hand between Sean's legs. His grip is rough, hand kneading Sean's cock almost painfully through fabric and zipper. "I thought so," Pierce chuckles. "And I'm rarely wrong." Pierce lifts his wine glass to his lips and drains what little liquid was left in it, then presses the cool glass against Sean's chest. As soon as Sean takes it from him, both of Pierce's hands go to Sean's shoulders, and Pierce squeezes hard. "Inside. Now."

Sean doesn't need to be told twice, and he doesn't need liquid courage from wine. He steps back into the dining room and puts both glasses on the table, then turns to Pierce again. Pierce steps past him, making his way down the hall, and Sean spins on his heel, trying to keep up. Pierce leads him to the bedroom, where he turns around and leans against the footrails of the bed. And Christ, Pierce's bed is imposing: wrought-iron, solid-looking, with an undecorated canopy. Silver bedcovers are the only thing remotely resembling color in the room; the walls are white, the trim around the windows is black, and the furniture is black and gleaming.

Sean doesn't quite know where to stand, and Pierce has his arms crossed over his chest and is staring at Sean as if sizing him up. It's almost nervewracking. Sean runs fingers through his hair and then lets his arms rest at his sides, trying not to fidget.

"Do you like playing rough, Sean?" Pierce asks. He's still smiling, as if he knows all the answers.

 _Just like everyone else_ , Sean thinks. _They all think they know the goddamned answers._ And it's suddenly important to him to make sure Pierce doesn't get it _wrong_. Sean comes forward, hands going to Pierce's upper arms. "I do, yeah," he says. "But--"

"Stop." Pierce's arms uncross, and he walks around Sean in a slow, steady circle. His fingers sink into the back of Sean's collar, gripping the leather of his jacket. "Don't move." He _yanks_ , then, stripping the jacket off Sean's arms in one rough, violent motion. Sean jerks and turns around to face Pierce; by then, though, Pierce is walking around Sean again, sinking a fist into the front of Sean's shirt. "You don't have to tell me anything. I _know_ , Sean." He jerks hard, and the motion is so startling it sends Sean exactly where Pierce intended -- to his knees. "Trust me."

Stunned, Sean has nothing to do but nod, and when Pierce brings a hand down to grip the back of Sean's neck again, Sean realizes where his mouth is. He comes forward, not certain whether it's under his own power or whether Pierce's rough grip on the back of his neck is dragging him there, and he nuzzles against Pierce's fly, groaning softly. "Please," he murmurs, "let me..."

"Get your clothes off first," Pierce says, giving Sean one more rough squeeze before shoving him back. That move, too, is startling enough to push Sean off-balance. He catches himself on one arm and pants for breath while Pierce makes his way over to the nightstand. Sean tugs his shirt over his head while Pierce retrieves lube and condoms, and then Sean stands up to get the rest of his clothes off, everything tossed away at random.

Pierce has made no move to get his clothes off. Sean reaches up for his belt, glancing up to Pierce's face before unbuckling it and getting Pierce's trousers tugged down around his thighs. Sean reaches through the silk of Pierce's boxers and brings his cock out -- not too long, but damned thick, good enough. He gives it a few experimental strokes with his hand before leaning forward and fitting his mouth over the head, sucking hard and then slowly working his way down.

"Oh, very nice," Pierce murmurs. His fingers begin carding through Sean's hair, and Sean moans softly. Pierce thrusts forward, starting up a rhythm in counterpoint to the strokes Sean's making with his tongue. It's an easy rhythm, one that doesn't take Pierce too deep, and Sean begins shoving his mouth down harder, moaning louder, attempting encouragement.

 _You can take me harder than that, Pierce. Come on._

Pierce obliges, bringing both hands down to hold Sean's head steady and then beginning to thrust in deep. Sean holds still for him and keeps the motions of his tongue hard and fast. Pierce hisses, and finally pulls out, shoving Sean back again. Sean falls back and catches himself on his hands. His eyes are bright. "Fuck me," he whispers. "Please, Pierce."

Pierce grabs a condom and drops to his knees next to Sean. He shoves at one of Sean's shoulders, and Sean moves into position on hands and knees. He hears the packet rip, and feels the none-too-gentle press of Pierce's fingers at his entrance. There's lube, but barely, and Sean grits his teeth down hard. It's always so damned _good_ being taken like this, little-to-no prep, and all he wants is to feel Pierce slamming into him and almost _forcing_ him to take it. "God," Sean gasps out, " _please_..."

"Yes," Pierce whispers. And then his fingers are gone, and Sean can feel the head of his cock lined up and ready to press in. "You want it rough?" It's not really a question. It sounds more like Pierce is asking for his own amusement. Sean answers anyway, nodding hard. "Then take it," Pierce hisses, and shoves in, all at once, hard enough to hurt.

" _Fuck_ ," Sean spits. He clenches his teeth harder. Hurts. Burns. And there's nothing he can do about it. He can feel warmth creeping up his chest, can feel the way he's flushing with excitement and arousal, and Christ, Pierce is fucking him harder than he expected, hard enough to have Sean scrambling for purchase on the floor, tightening his hands into fists and keeping his jaw clenched to keep from crying out with it.

"There," Pierce whispers. He reaches a hand around Sean and wraps it around his cock, and his grip is so tight Sean actually does let out a strangled grunt, despite his best efforts not to.

Sean can feel Pierce's thighs pressed up against his, can feel the fabric of Pierce's clothing against his skin, and there's something about it that makes Sean want to plead. _Yes, please, God, Christ, anything, hurt me..._

That hand on his cock is only getting tighter. The strokes are painful, every one of them, bruisingly rough, and Sean braces himself on the floor, finally pushing back, arching against Pierce's hand and his cock.

Pierce leans over a little further, and now his strokes are hitting Sean in exactly the right place. Sean's determination not to beg, not to make any sounds that might make Pierce stop, dissipates rapidly under the punishing thrusts, and he tilts his head back, letting out several sharp sounds that almost resemble screams. "Please," he pants, "oh fuck, Pierce, please..."

Pierce's response is a rough jerk of his hand, and Sean grits his teeth down harder against the words that want to come next. _Hurt me._ Rough is one thing. Begging to be hurt has snapped better men than Pierce out of the mood, and so Sean grinds his teeth harder and harder against each other until the strokes are more than he can bear, and he opens his mouth and goddamned near _roars_ with his completion.

Moments later, Pierce gives one last sharp thrust and then stills himself completely, breath cresting out softly as Sean feels the pulse of his orgasm. Sean moans again, and he lowers his forehead to the floor, going down on his forearms, panting for breath.

Pierce's fingertips run over lazy, random paths on Sean's back, and he sighs lightly. "That was nice," he murmurs. Sean chuckles against the floor, but says nothing. Pierce leans forward and nips lightly at Sean's shoulderblade. "You find that funny?" he asks.

"I find it an understatement of near epic proportions," Sean manages. "Christ, that was good."

"I know," Pierce purrs. "I could feel the way your cock was leaping in my hand every time I squeezed down hard. I could feel the way you were trying not to scream for me. And I can't imagine why you wouldn't." Pierce lets out a warm breath against Sean's shoulder. "I love screaming."

Sean shudders hard. "Do you?" he murmurs.

" _Very_ much," Pierce agrees. "Would you have liked to scream for me?" He gives another half-thrust inside Sean, and the rub against Sean's prostate makes him open his mouth and groan. "I could do things to you that would make you scream."

"Fuck," Sean whispers. "You're into that, then?"

"Define 'that'," Pierce chuckles. He pulls back, and Sean hisses at the loss of contact and the loss of Pierce's cock. He hears Pierce getting up behind him, and then footfalls, and then a bit of running water. Shortly after, he can hear more footfalls, and the light creak of bedsprings as Pierce sits down on the bed. Sean turns over on his side, facing Pierce, the spots from his come just in front of him on the hardwood floor.

For a while, it's a staring contest. Then Pierce's eyes go to the spots of Sean's come on his floor, and Sean's eyes follow. "I should clean up for you," Sean murmurs. "I'm... sorry about the mess..."

"You can get a towel from the bathroom," Pierce says, nodding toward the doorway. He turns back to Sean, and his grin bares all his teeth. "Or you can be a good lad and lick it up."

"You _are_ into that," Sean breathes. "Christ. I didn't realize."

"You never defined 'that'," Pierce points out. "What exactly is it you think I'm 'into'?"

"I don't--" Sean shakes his head. "Mind games. Pain games. That sort of thing."

"And are you into that, too?" Pierce asks.

"Wouldn't know," Sean mutters. "Haven't been asked much."

"You sound as if that bothers you," Pierce observes. "What's that about?"

"It's only that..." Sean shakes his head again, puts his hand flat on the floor in front of him. "I _do_ want it like that. Like you just gave it to me. Wanted to scream, yeah. Wanted to beg. But you say _hurt me_ to the wrong bloke and it's like you've asked him to do something awful. And then there are things I can't explain at all, things I want but I can't possibly tell you why."

"Such as...?"

Sean blushes, and he can feel the warmth nearly down to his stomach. "Like licking up my come for you," he murmurs. "I realize you were joking, and--"

"I was entirely serious," Pierce interrupts. Sean's eyes snap to his again. "If you'd caught me in a nasty mood, I might take you by the hair and grind your face into it before letting you lick it up for me."

"Oh, fuck," Sean stammers. He has to close his eyes; he feels warm all over, and he doesn't know what in hell to do about it. He can feel his cock wanting to get hard again; the idea, the very _idea_ of Pierce grinding his face down into the floor, into the mess left by his come, _Christ_...

"Isn't that lovely," Pierce whispers. He climbs off the bed, and Sean hears the rustle of fabric as Pierce kneels down in front of him.

He feels Pierce's fingers slide through his hair, and moans softly. "Please," he whispers. He's not even sure what he's begging for at this point; he only knows he has to beg.

"Come on, then, lad." Pierce's grip tightens painfully, and Sean gasps, moans out loud. "Lick it up for me." He drags Sean's head down, and Sean scrambles up to hands and knees, crawling down the floor so he can get to the spots of his come.

True to his word, Pierce grinds Sean's face into the floor, dragging Sean's head from side to side until both of Sean's cheeks are painted with his own come. He gives Sean's head one last heavy shove before sitting back and resting his hands on his knees. "Go to it," Pierce snaps.

Sean does, eagerly, moaning softly as he picks up the messy streaks. He doesn't know why he's so damned grateful, doesn't know why he's blushing and can feel himself wanting to get hard again. He doesn't care, at this point; all he knows is that licking his come up for Pierce is unbearably, unutterably arousing, and he wants more. He doesn't even know what more is; he wants it anyway.

When he's done, he looks up at Pierce, pushing up so he's kneeling. Pierce reaches out and draws a thumb down Sean's face, picking up more traces of his come. Sean licks the come off Pierce's thumb, still eager, and as Pierce repeats the motion, Sean grows more and more eager, more and more grateful. He moans against Pierce's thumb, sucking it into his mouth and using the same lapping, desperate strokes he gave Pierce's cock. By the time Sean's face is clean, he's hard again, and he's breathing heavily.

"You could come from being treated this way," Pierce whispers. "Couldn't you, lad?"

"I don't know," Sean whispers. "Right now it feels as if you could breathe on me and I'd come from it."

"You'd be a natural at humiliation play."

Sean's eyebrows jerk up; the words sound right, feel right, but they also sound as if they mean something specific, and he's damned if he knows what.

"You've never had a lover into bondage, sadomasochism, domination, submission...?" Pierce asks. His fingertips play over Sean's cheeks, almost teasing now.

"I -- well, I've tied up a number of people, yeah, but... the rest of it... no," Sean whispers.

"Been tied up yourself?" Pierce asks.

"Once or twice," Sean admits.

"What does it do to you, thinking about being on your knees for me? Thinking about doing everything I tell you, and being punished if you don't get it quite right?"

"Christ," Sean whispers. "It does -- it does a lot."

"You ever had someone use a flogger on you?"

"No..."

"I suppose I don't need to ask about whips and chains, then," Pierce grins.

Sean almost laughs. "No."

"Would you beg for it, if I told you I might be interested in hurting you?"

Another sharp inhale and rough exhale; Sean nods.

"Well, that's promising, isn't it?" Pierce asks. "Lad, the things I'd do to you if you were mine..." His voice trails off, and Sean fights the urge to ask what he means -- _what things? His how?_ Pierce leans forward and strokes fingers through Sean's hair. "You wouldn't know what hit you," Pierce murmurs. "But I don't play like that on casual grounds. You're either mine or you're not."

"Pierce -- I want this, want you, but I don't know what in hell's name you're talking about," Sean says quietly. "Are you talking about being lovers, then, and not seeing other people, or...?"

"More than that," Pierce says. "You'd do as I told you, whatever that might be. You'd not come unless I say. You'd not go anywhere without my leave. Your body would be mine, to hurt or fuck or please as I saw fit. I'd _own_ you, in every sense of the word. And in return, I'd give you everything you need. Food, clothing, shelter, pain, sex, humiliation." He reaches down and grips Sean's jaw, fingers curling into the flesh of his cheek. "I'm into this, lad. Very much so. I am deadly serious about all of it."

"It... sounds like slavery," Sean murmurs.

"That's exactly what it is." Pierce tightens his grip. "Are you hard, lad?"

Sean's eyes shut. "Yes."

"The idea of belonging to me arouses you?"

"...yes."

"You're a bloody amateur. I have no idea whether you'd be worth having or not."

"I don't know, either," Sean whispers. It would be so much easier if he could believe this is something Pierce is only playing at. Something they could do to pass the time over a rainy weekend. That much he'd agree to without hesitation. But this is, for all intents and purposes, a first date, and despite the fact that Sean's hearing things that have him harder than he's ever been in his life, despite the way Pierce's words have hot flashes of interest sparking through his body, he doesn't want to make any promises. Not yet.

"Shall I make a suggestion?" Pierce asks quietly. His grip eases, and his fingertips slide down the front of Sean's neck. Sean jerks away, gasping. Pierce's eyes narrow.

"I'm sorry," Sean whispers, "sorry, but if you touch my neck that way I won't be able to concentrate on what you're saying..."

" _Ahhhh_ ," Pierce grins. He reaches out, cups the back of Sean's neck in one hand, and trails fingertips down his throat with the other. Sean gasps, arches, moans under the teasing light touches. "We'll play with that later," he promises, and Sean shivers as Pierce draws his hands back. "I asked if perhaps I might make a suggestion."

"I -- yes, yes, of course." Sean's breath is coming entirely too quickly, and he nods.

"Ordinarily I don't believe in trial periods. I believe one is serious, or one is not. In your case, though, as you're new at this, I'm willing to make an exception." Pierce comes to his feet and slides his fingers into Sean's hair again. "We have two more days of filming before the weekend. I promise not to do anything that will embarrass you in front of others, but you'll give me those days and do whatever I ask of you. If you still want what I'm offering by the weekend, you'll pack whatever you might need and you'll stay here for those days. And at the end of that, you'll have a slightly better idea of what I have to offer you. Filming's done in another three weeks. I expect you'll know whether you want it or not by then."

"What if I don't?" Sean whispers. "You said it yourself -- I'm a bloody amateur. I don't know a goddamned thing about what we're doing."

"You are, yes," Pierce murmurs. His grip in Sean's hair tightens, and Sean gasps in pain, eyes squeezing shut. "I'm not. I know what you need, lad, and I know I can give it to you. It's only a matter of admitting it to yourself, and letting yourself have it."

"God -- Pierce--"

"Do you want me to let go?" Pierce asks. He gives Sean's head a rough shake. "Or would you like to feel my hands in your hair, tugging until your eyes sting while I make you choke on my cock?"

"Oh, _fuck_..."

Pierce shoves Sean away. "And you think you might not want this." He laughs, and the laugh does not sound at all nice. "Have you ever played with orgasm control?" Sean looks up and shakes his head. "If I ordered you not to, would you hold back from coming until I said you could do it?"

"I'd... try," Sean stutters.

"Don't think you could manage it?"

"I don't think it's up to me," Sean says, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

"Shall we start with that?" Pierce asks. He nods down at Sean's cock. "Stroke off. Don't come until I tell you."

Sean takes a deep breath, then wraps his hand around his cock and starts stroking himself. He can feel himself blushing again; stroking off in front of an audience is not something he's done often. When he's close, he glances up at Pierce and stops stroking, taking his hand away from his cock and resting it on his thigh.

"Not bad," Pierce murmurs. "Do you want to come?"

"Fuck. What do you think?"

Pierce grabs a handful of Sean's hair and yanks his head back, forcing his neck into an uncomfortable, inelegant arch. "I don't think I'm going to let you," he murmurs. "I don't think you have any concept of _respect_ yet, and you'd do better to learn that before we get too far with this."

"I'm sorry," Sean whispers. Christ, the tug in his hair and the uneasy twist in his gut from Pierce's criticism have him that much closer even without his hand on his cock. "I don't know what in fuck I'm doing. What do you mean by _respect_?"

"Language has a good deal to do with our mindset," Pierce murmurs. "You don't curse at me. It's a sign of disrespect -- that you don't care about what I'm doing for you, that you don't want what I'm offering you."

Sean's eyes close. "All right," he murmurs. "I apologize for cursing at you, and I won't allow it to happen again."

Pierce's grip eases. "Good," he says. "That's not bad. If you were mine, you'd call me _Master_. It might feel awkward on your lips at first, but I assure you, you'd come to love it."

Sean has his doubts, but nods anyway. "Is there something you'd want me to call you apart from your name, then?" he asks. "While we're not at a point where you own me?"

"Oh, I think _Sir_ would be very pretty coming off your lips." Pierce trails a finger down Sean's face and rests it against his lips, and Sean, acting entirely on instinct, kisses it softly. "Nice," Pierce approves. "I'd especially enjoy hearing you say _Sir_ while you beg." He brings his other fingertips up to Sean's mouth, and Sean leaves kisses on each of them. "And make no mistake, lad -- I _will_ have you begging, owned or not."

"I've no doubt of that, Sir," Sean whispers. It nearly makes him groan; it's such an odd thing to say, and it should feel faintly ridiculous, but it doesn't. Not at all. It's got him wanting to breathe heavily, wishing his hand were back on his cock and he'd been given permission to come.

"Good lad," Pierce whispers. "Stroke off again. Don't come."

Sean nearly groans at that, too; he's not sure he can hold back. He wraps his hand very lightly around his cock and gives it a few soft, short strokes, meticulously avoiding the sensitive spot under the head. It doesn't take long at all before he's panting. "Sir -- please, Sir, close, can't hold back."

"You can," Pierce murmurs. "Stop now."

Sean takes his hand away as if it's burning him. In a way, it is; he doesn't see how he's going to keep holding back when every touch makes him want to bite down hard on his lower lip and strangle his cries as he comes.

"Again," Pierce says. "Stroke hard this time, and back off when you're close."

Sean grits his teeth together and gives himself three rough, fast strokes. That's all he can manage before he has to take his hand away.

Pierce kneels down in front of him again. "Part your knees," he murmurs. "Get them wide apart for me." One of his hands comes up to Sean's throat, and his fingertips glide over the skin there. Sean puts his hands behind his back, bracing them on the floor, and spreads his knees apart. Pierce follows him down, one hand's fingertips dancing over his neck, the other hand trailing down Sean's stomach, fingertips ghosting over his cock, the touch so light Sean almost thinks he's imagining it.

Even that, though, is enough to have Sean throwing his head back and pleading. "Please -- Pierce -- _Sir_ \-- let me -- oh, God -- let me come, please, Sir."

"No," Pierce murmurs. His hand closes around Sean's cock, and Sean jerks, one rough scream torn out of him. Pierce squeezes, not gently at all, and then pulls his hand from Sean's cock. "My, but wasn't that a lovely sound," Pierce chuckles.

"Please -- Sir..."

"No," Pierce says firmly. "Get dressed, lad. Go home."

Sean is so startled by that he almost forgets his promise not to curse at Pierce again. "What?" he asks, finally. "Why?"

"Because I said so," Pierce smirks. He nods toward Sean's clothes. "Get dressed."

Sean feels edgy, uncomfortable. He's not sure whether it's a good feeling or not. Getting into his trousers is nearly agony; he has to press his cock flat against his belly with the palm of his hand before he can zip them, and he feels faintly ridiculous being dressed when he's so hard he's nearly dripping.

Pierce comes forward and wraps his arms around Sean's waist. "Listen carefully," he murmurs. "You don't come until I tell you. That doesn't stop when you leave."

Sean frowns. "You're joking. I'll ache all night--"

"You'll ache worse than that, because I'm going to call you and tell you to stroke off for me. And I'm not going to let you come then, either. You'll wake up in the middle of the night with your phone ringing, and you'll stroke off for me, until you're close. And then I'll hang up, and you'll lay awake, trying to figure out how in hell you're going to get back to sleep."

"Pierce, please." Aching sounds good, and it sounds like misery, somehow wrapped together. Sean closes his eyes. "Please don't--"

"Will you do this if I ask it of you?" Pierce murmurs. He leans forward, pressing his hips to Sean's, kissing down the side of his neck.

"Pierce, oh God, I can't, please--" Sean blurts out, hands coming up to grip Pierce's upper arms. Between the voice and the grind against his cock and Pierce's lips on his neck, _Christ_ , Sean doesn't stand a chance.

"You will," Pierce whispers, "and tomorrow when we're on set, I'll drag you off somewhere, pin you against a wall, and fuck you. If you beg prettily enough to impress me, I'll let you come then. Think on that, and hold tight to that image." Pierce nips sharply at Sean's neck, a row of quick bites that trace a path to the center of his throat. Sean's hands tighten convulsively, and Pierce laughs, lips twitching against Sean's skin. "Go on, now, lad. Make me proud of you."

Sean shivers and nods, hands clenching and unclenching for a few moments before he can make himself let go and take a step back. He doesn't respond to Pierce's last comment; doesn't know how. He lets out a quiet breath and heads away, out the front door and into the cool air of the night. It doesn't help nearly enough. The night's going to kill him.


	2. Exploration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean goes home after dinner with Pierce. Pierce keeps him up all night anyway.

The phone rings at midnight, and Sean scrambles for it, receiver at his ear before he's even awake. "Ah?" he gets out, which was supposed to be _Yeah?_ but wasn't quite articulate enough.

"Are you hard?"

Sean tries to make sense of the words as he comes awake. "Pierce?" he asks. "What's going on?"

"Are you hard?" Pierce repeats.

Sean lets his head fall back onto his pillow. He yawns and then takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Was _asleep_ ," he points out. "Hard now, yeah."

"You're not very articulate when you first wake up, are you?" Pierce teases.

"Took me an hour to get to sleep," Sean grumbles. "Was hoping for a little more than half an hour of it before I had to talk about whether I'm hard or not."

"But you _are_ hard, aren't you?" Pierce purrs. "Put your hand around your cock, lad."

Sean tucks the receiver into his shoulder and slides his hand down his chest, wrapping it around his cock. He lets out a soft moan when skin makes contact with skin. "All right," he breathes. "It's there, Pierce."

"Stroke yourself."

Sean does, four or five long gliding strokes up the length of his shaft. "God," he whispers. "So hard, want it so much..."

"Stop now."

It takes effort, especially with Sean in a sleep-addled, uncomfortable state. He stills his hand on his cock and breathes softly, trying to get his breaths even. "I've... stopped," he murmurs. "Sir."

"Good lad," Pierce whispers. "Oh, very good lad. Stroke again."

Another set of strokes, and this time Sean's breath comes out stuttered with each of them. "Please," he murmurs. "Please, Sir, this hurts... and I want it so badly, please..."

"You can take it for as long as I ask it of you," Pierce says, voice firm.

"Maybe," Sean breathes, laughing a bit. "And if I can't?"

"If you were mine, there'd be a number of punishments I could give you for coming without permission. Have you ever been put in a cock ring?"

The question is distracting enough to interrupt Sean's rhythm. "I haven't, no," he answers with a slight laugh. "I don't know that I'd like it."

"They're not for you to like. Are you still stroking yourself?"

"Nn -- yes," Sean pants, keeping up the rhythm. "Getting close."

"Good lad. Go rougher for me. Harder." Pierce waits until Sean's breathing indicates he's done it, then adds, "I could put you in a cock ring while we're filming. Wouldn't be uncomfortable unless you're hard, and you'd only be hard if the idea of being uncomfortable because I ask it of you excites you. Do you think it might, lad?"

"You keep... calling me _lad_ ," Sean pants out. "Is that like _Sir_?"

"It's the other way around," Pierce explains. "You're a lad to me until you earn your name back. But that's a long way off for a lad such as yourself. You're new at this. Don't know a blasted thing. It might be years before you earn the right to hear your name on my lips."

" _Nn--_ Sir, please, close," Sean manages. "I need to come, please, Sir."

"Stop now," Pierce whispers. "Take your hand away and put it at your side."

"Please--"

" _Now,_ lad," Pierce snaps.

Sean's hand shakes as he presses it to the bed by his side. "All right," he whispers. "All right. I've stopped. God."

"Get some sleep, lad. I'll be calling you again before morning."

Sean's lips are open to say something -- he's not sure what, but something -- but then the phone clicks off in his ear, and he closes his eyes and breathes out. He lets out a soft litany of curses before he hangs the receiver in its cradle, and he punches the pillow hard several times before turning on his side and trying to go back to sleep.

He almost makes it. The phone rings again an hour and a half later, and Sean scrambles for it, dragging the receiver to his ear and sliding one hand to his cock immediately. "Pierce, oh God, I can't sleep, I can't think--"

"Hush now," Pierce murmurs. "Are you touching yourself?"

"Yes, _please_ , Sir, let me come--"

"Stop. Now."

Sean lets out a soft groan, but does, pressing his hand flat to the mattress. "All right," he whispers. "I've stopped. Are you happy?"

"You never did tell me whether the idea of being put in a cockring while we're filming would excite you or not."

Sean shudders. "Probably."

"Good," Pierce smiles. "Very good. Go back to stroking yourself. Slowly this time. Let me hear your breathing as you do it."

Sean grits his teeth together and does so, slow strokes nearly torture on the length of his cock. His breathing is uneven and irregular, and he lets out strangled gasps every time his hand gets to the head of his cock. "Please," he growls, "let me come or let me stop..."

"Don't like being on the edge?" Pierce asks quietly. "Don't like being teased?"

"No," Sean whispers. "I'd rather come, or not, but this hurts."

"Good lad," Pierce whispers. "If I were there I'd stroke you off hard, with a bit of lube to get the glides nice and slippery. I'd let you come all over my hand, and then I'd catch your come in my fingers and slick it down over your cock. And I'd keep stroking until you had both hands on my wrist and were begging me to give you a moment's pause."

" _Fuckfuckfuckfuck..._ "

"And I could swear we had a discussion about cursing at me," Pierce continues, a soft lilting tone in his voice. "I seem to remember a promise that it wouldn't happen again..."

" _Fuck_ ," Sean gets out one more time, and then lets out a rough breath, shuddering with it. "Then punish me for it."

"Is that what had you cursing at me? The desire to find out what I mean by punishment?"

"No," Sean grits through his teeth, "but I'm willing to take it, because I did break my promise to you."

"Is that important to you, keeping promises?" Pierce asks. "Would you tell me if you broke one that you'd made, even if you knew there was no chance I'd ever find out about it?"

"Yes," Sean whispers, "Pierce, please let me stop, I'm too close, please..."

"Stop now."

Sean's breaths are unsteady for several moments. He slides his hand into his hair and tugs hard, the pain enough of a distraction from the throbbing ache in his cock to let him think for a few seconds. To his surprise, the first thing he thinks of is something he feels a near-desperate urge to say. "Thank you," he whispers.

"Oh, that's interesting. That's very interesting. What are you thanking me for?" Pierce asks.

"For letting me stop, Sir," Sean murmurs. "So I wouldn't have to break a promise to you."

Pierce goes silent on his end of the line, but there's no telltale click that indicates he's hung up. "Oh, lad," he says, eventually. "God, you're beautiful. Do you realize that?"

Something in Pierce's voice breaks through the haze of arousal, and Sean half-sits, pushing himself up a little further in the bed. "What is it you want from me?" he asks. "Is it only owning me you're after, or is there more to it than that?"

"There's more to it," Pierce responds, "but it's too early in the game for me to tell you what I'm after yet. And it's nearly two in the morning, lad. Get some more sleep."

"Are you going to call me again?" Sean asks, yawning.

"Your set call's four a.m. tomorrow, isn't it?" Pierce asks. "For makeup?"

"Yeah," Sean breathes, leaning back into the pillows and looking up at the ceiling.

"Get your sleep, but be there half an hour early. I'll meet you."

"All right--" Sean manages to get out before the phone clicks off in his ear. "Sir," he murmurs.


	3. Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning in the makeup trailer.

Sean's hands are curled around a styrofoam cup of coffee, and he bounces on the balls of his feet, trying to stay warm. It's three-thirty, a very cold morning for May, and he's exhausted, hoping to be able to catch some small amounts of sleep in the makeup chair. All that depends on Pierce, though, and whatever it is he's planning. Christ, the makeup artists won't be here for half an hour. Sean has no idea what Pierce is going to do.

"You're punctual," Pierce observes. Sean turns around, not quite smiling. Pierce is holding up a set of keys, and he points to the trailer. "Think we'd be warmer in there?" he asks.

"God, yes," Sean sighs. He steps out of the way and lets Pierce unlock the trailer. "Guess there are advantages to being the lead," he murmurs. "You can probably get your hands on near anything."

"Let's hope," Pierce says dryly. He opens the door and steps inside, and Sean follows. Pierce finds the heater and flicks it on, and when Sean puts his coffee down, Pierce takes him by the wrists and backs him slowly into the wall.

"Did you come last night?" Pierce asks. One more step, and then Sean's wrists hit the cold metal of the wall, and Pierce's thigh is rubbing against his cock. "After I rang off?"

"No," Sean breathes. He leaves his wrists exactly where Pierce put them, afraid that if he were to tug, Pierce would let him pull away. "I've been waiting for you to tell me."

"Good lad," Pierce smiles. "I want to get you off here. But we don't have much time." He lets one of Sean's wrists go and slides his hand under Sean's jacket, rubbing his thumb over Sean's nipple. "How much do you like being hurt, lad?"

"I don't know," Sean whispers.

"Let's find out."

Pierce's fingers pinch down hard, and even through fabric Sean can feel the jolt of it traveling straight down to his cock. " _Fuck_ ," Sean bites out.

"You're cursing at me again." Pierce lets up, then pinches down again, and Sean grits his teeth together to keep from letting out another curse. "Good lad." Another rough, nasty pinch, this time with a twist to it, and Sean's knees nearly buckle. "Now, I can feel that you're hard," Pierce murmurs. He rubs his thigh against Sean's cock, and Sean tilts his head back and gasps. "Are you close?"

"Yes," Sean breathes. "Too close. Please."

"Think you could come if I were twisting you this way?" Pierce gives Sean's nipple another rough, harsh twist. Sean arches against his hand and breathes hard, eyes squeezing shut as tight as he can get them. "I think you might." Pierce takes his other hand away from Sean's wrist and trails his fingertips down the side of Sean's neck. "Come," he whispers. "If you can."

It's almost impossible to say which is more responsible for how close Sean has gotten -- the pinching, twisting pain on his nipple or the teasing, tickling fingers on his neck. It's both, and Sean gasps in shock and then half-frustrated ecstasy as he comes, feeling the pulses of his cock in his trousers and the patch of liquid pooling at the tip. The orgasm is fucking gorgeous, one of the best he's ever had, but the humiliation of knowing he's going to leave himself stained has Sean's head dropping forward, his arms coming off the wall to clutch at Pierce's shoulders. He has to bite down against several curses. At least he's not in costume yet; that's something.

"Happy?" Pierce murmurs. He leans forward and brushes his lips against Sean's.

Sean shudders. "No," he breathes. "Uncomfortable, and I'm aching where you pinched me."

"Go clean up." Pierce makes a vague gesture in the direction of the trailer's lavatory. "Don't fasten your clothes up when you're done. I've got something for you."

Sean lifts an eyebrow, but goes back to the lavatory in order to get himself clean. Very little of the come has soaked in yet, and Sean manages to get most of it cleaned up. The stain won't be too noticeable, thank Christ, although what's left is still cold against his cock.

He doesn't fasten his clothes when he finishes, but he peeks around the side of the door before stepping out. Pierce smirks at him, and Sean comes out, belt undone and fly unzipped.

Pierce comes forward and tugs something out of his pocket. He holds it out on his palm so Sean can see it. "You cursed at me five times last night. And once today. This is for what you did last night." It's a set of five rubber cock rings, the last one larger than the rest, all attached at the top. Pierce reaches into Sean's fly and pulls out Sean's cock, slipping the rings onto him and fitting the last one over cock and balls. "You can take it off when you get into your costume." He gives Sean's cock a hard squeeze before tucking it away, almost gently. "For cursing at me today, though, you get something else. Get on your knees."

Sean finishes buttoning his trousers and drops to his knees, shifting a bit at the unfamiliar feel of rubber circling his cock. Pierce snaps open his jeans and unzips them, and he pulls his cock out, resting the head of it against Sean's lips. "Do you want it?" he murmurs.

"Yes. Please, Sir," Sean adds quickly.

"No," Pierce tells him. "Don't take your eyes off it." He begins stroking himself, quick, efficient strokes meant to get him off as fast as possible. He steadies Sean's head with a hand, and it only takes a dozen strokes or so before he grits his teeth down and comes, painting Sean's face with it. Sean jerks back, purely out of reflex, before Pierce's hand catches him and holds him firmly in place.

Sean ends up shaking. His eyes close, and he reaches up to hold Pierce's thighs. His hands are trembling, and he gasps quietly, trying to catch his breath.

"Don't just sit there, lad," Pierce murmurs. "Clean yourself up."

Sean nods and starts to stand, and Pierce keeps his fist in Sean's hair, pushing him right back down to his knees.

"Use your fingers," Pierce says. "Christ, lad, am I going to have to tell you everything?"

The rough sound of Pierce's voice makes Sean shift again; the rubber rings are cutting into his cock now. He shakes his head, or tries under the punishing grip in his hair, and begins using his fingers to clean up the mess on his face. By the time his cheeks are clean, he's wincing; every beat of his pulse is sending agony through his cock and balls. "I'm sorry, Sir," Sean whispers. "For cursing at you."

"Good lad," Pierce says. He fastens up his trousers and crouches down in front of Sean. "You might just be worth having after all. We'll see, won't we?" He gives Sean a rough pat on the head, then stands and makes his way out of the trailer.

Sean pushes himself to his feet, but it's a slow process. He closes his eyes, trying to figure out whether the people in makeup will be able to tell what happened here. After a few moments, he goes to the lavatory again, to get his face washed off and his hair combed back into shape.


	4. Initiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierce meets Sean after filming and takes him home. Sean's never been hurt this way before.

Sean gets out of his costume and back into street clothes, and wonders where Pierce ran off to. Their last scene for the day was together, but Pierce stuck around with the director in order to talk about something -- a sequence of shots, tomorrow's shoot, Sean doesn't know. And while Pierce ought to be here in costuming any minute now, Sean doesn't know whether to stick around and wait for him or to head home and wait for Pierce to call him.

He settles on a compromise of heading out of wardrobe and lighting a cigarette. Pierce must be _somewhere_. Only a matter of waiting him out.

And there he is now, loping across the empty lot as if he has all the time in the world and no reason at all to be distracted. He grins when he sees Sean; Sean gives a halfhearted salute and waits for Pierce to get to him. "Evening," Sean calls out.

"Good evening." Pierce doesn't stop walking once he gets to Sean. He keeps going, backing Sean into the side of the trailer and pushing his wrists up by his shoulders. "Long day. How are you doing?" His voice is entirely casual, as if he doesn't have Sean pinned by the arms, as if they're talking to each other on the street rather than having their faces two inches from each other.

"I'm... fine," Sean breathes. He's more than fine; he's hard, damn it, already. He lowers his voice. "Someone could see. Shouldn't we save this for later?"

"No one's around," Pierce murmurs. He lets one of Sean's wrists go and runs his fingertips down the side of Sean's neck. Sean tilts his head back and moans softly, keeping his wrist pinned to the cold metal of the trailer wall. "Feel good, does it?" Pierce whispers.

"Yes, Sir." The words slip out without Sean's even needing to think about them. He shivers hard under Pierce, and Pierce chuckles.

"Good lad," he says. "I want you to stay here like this until I come back for you. Don't move your wrists off the wall."

"No, Sir," Sean murmurs. Pierce leaves another soft, lingering caress at the side of his neck, then goes into wardrobe, shutting the door quietly behind him. One of Sean's hands is still clutching his cigarette; he expects it'll burn down before Pierce comes back to him. He flicks it away, all without moving his wrists. He feels pinned here, more than he would have with Pierce's hands on him.

 _Or cuffs_ , he thinks. He wonders what it would be like if he were cuffed to the wall here, with his hands above his head. What it would be like if Pierce were hurting him, actively, not letting up just because they were running out of time. He shivers hard and lets his eyes close.

Pierce is in the wardrobe trailer for some time, and Sean's arms begin to tire after a while. He wonders, faintly, if this is some kind of endurance test. If Pierce will simply stay there for an hour, reading the newspaper, having coffee, leaving Sean here until his arms ache from the lack of movement. And the thought of even that gets Sean breathless.

 _Fuck, what's wrong with me?_ The idea of being hurt, yeah, maybe that's not so out of the ordinary. But the rest of this -- the way he's given up control -- Pierce kept him up all night with phone calls. Sean wore rubber rings on his cock through the uncomfortable process of getting his scar applied. These are not activities Sean would do under his own terms. But then... the point is that they're _not_ his own terms. Sean stays glued to the wall.

Eventually, Pierce comes out of the trailer and heads back over to Sean. He gives Sean a long, appraising look, and nods with satisfaction. "Do you like being given orders?" he asks.

"Apparently I do," Sean mutters. "Sir."

"Take your arms down." When Sean does, Pierce tilts his head. "I think I'd like to see what pain looks like on you. For more than a few moments at a time. Shall we find out?"

"Please," Sean whispers.

"Thought so," Pierce smirks. "Come on, then." He tilts his head and heads off to the parking lot, where he unlocks the doors to his car. Sean looks over his shoulder at his Jaguar, sitting abandoned in a corner of the lot. Pierce notices, and lifts an eyebrow. "Something the matter?"

"I was only thinking about how I'll be getting home tonight. Or to the set tomorrow."

"If you can stand up well enough to drive at the end of the night, I'll bring you back here to get your car. If not..." Pierce shrugs. "I'll let you sleep a while, and I'll make sure you get to makeup on time. Fair enough?"

 _If you can stand up..._ Sean nods, already feeling a flush creep up over his shoulders. "Yes, Sir," he murmurs. "Quite fair, Sir."

"That really is lovely coming off your lips," Pierce murmurs. He steps around the car and cups the back of Sean's neck in his hand, leaning in to kiss him gently. "I'm not normally one to break in novices," he murmurs, "but you're going to be beautiful when I break you. You don't even know what it is, being broken, and you're going to be outstanding when it happens to you."

"I hope to please you, Sir," Sean whispers, hands coming up to clutch at Pierce's arms. The words are coming more easily today, and something about them feels natural. He doesn't know why, doesn't know what it is about the words, but... they feel right.

Pierce tightens his grip on the back of Sean's neck. "You'll need to learn not to reach for me," he murmurs. "It's not for you to choose when to touch me."

"I'm sorry," Sean whispers. He puts his arms down at his sides, immediately feeling lost and unsettled. "I meant no disrespect by my actions, Sir."

"You have so much to learn," Pierce says. He lets Sean's neck go and steps away. "Get in."

Sean does, fastening his seat belt and putting his hands on his knees. Pierce climbs into the car and starts the engine, and the two of them take off for Pierce's house.

"What have you done in your time?" Pierce asks. "Have you had more than rough encounters? Ever had someone who was willing to hurt you deliberately?"

"Apart from biting, clawing, scratching -- being taken too hard?" Sean asks. He shakes his head. "Nothing more than that."

"Clamps? Clothespins?"

"No."

"Ever been put over someone's knee and spanked?"

"Christ, no." Sean doesn't know whether to be offended or terribly aroused by the question. His reaction draws a chuckle out of Pierce, and Sean closes his eyes. "Sorry," he murmurs.

"I like that," Pierce tells him. "I like getting small glimpses of the emotions you feel when you're thinking about these things. We are going to be starting from the beginning, aren't we?"

"I thought we'd established that, Sir," Sean says.

"True enough." Pierce pauses. "Are you nervous at all?"

Sean thinks about it. "In a variety of ways, yes, I'm nervous."

"Tell me about that."

"Where do you want me to begin?" Sean's voice is touched with amusement. "What part of it interests you?"

" _All_ of it interests me," Pierce grins, baring his teeth and sounding equally amused. "Start wherever you like, lad."

Sean lets out a breath. "I'm afraid I might not be good at this," he begins. "Not knowing what I'm doing could have me making mistakes I can't anticipate right now."

"It's possible," Pierce says. "Would that bother you tremendously?"

"Yeah, it would," Sean says. "What's the point of doing things if you can't get them right?"

"What's the point of doing anything if you already know how it's all going to work out?" Pierce counters.

"That's not what I mean at all," Sean says. "What I'm saying is that I'd rather not fail before I get started."

"Well, you certainly haven't done that," Pierce points out. "You _are_ started, in case you hadn't noticed, and I think I'm in a better position to judge whether or not you're failing than you are." Pierce makes a gentle right turn and turns to Sean again. "What else has you nervous?"

It takes a little longer for Sean to get the next words out. "Supposing this isn't it, either?" he asks quietly.

"How do you mean?" Pierce murmurs.

"I mean..." Sean turns to look out the window and barely resists the urge to rub his fingertips against his temples. "I've been looking for a while, Pierce. I've had a string of disappointing lovers and bad encounters -- and this last 24 hours has been the closest I've ever felt I've gotten to what I need." Sean laughs. "Listen to me, saying 'what I need', as if I have the slightest idea what that is."

Pierce goes silent for a few seconds. "How far do you trust me?" he says.

"I have no earthly idea," Sean mutters.

Pierce laughs. "I like your honesty," he says. "I want you to promise me you'll stay honest with me for as long as you're mine."

It's not in Sean's nature to be dishonest. He blinks a few times, then nods.

"This is where a nicer human being would say 'last chance' or 'if you want out, now's the time'." Pierce's eyes flick over to Sean again. "But the fact of the matter is, I'm not that nice. And if I give you the chance to back out now, all I'll be is a footnote in your sexual history. Another man who thought he could promise that elusive 'something more' you so badly seem to need." Pierce grins. "No turning back, lad. The next three days are mine to do with as I please, as are you, for now."

Sean's eyes close, and he nods. "Yes, Sir," he murmurs.

"Do you think you're going to come away from the weekend disappointed, lad?" Pierce asks.

"No, Sir, I don't."

"Good," Pierce grins. "Neither do I."

Another few miles before the drive's done; at the end of it, Pierce pulls up to his house and parks the car in the driveway. His eyes are still trained straight forward, and he's not looking at Sean. He tugs the keys out of the ignition and holds them up. "I want you to go ahead inside, go to my bedroom, undress, and kneel at the foot of my bed. You have one minute. Go."

Sean takes the keys, and is already counting seconds by the time he gets to the door. His hands shake as he thumbs through the keys and finds the appropriate one for the deadbolt, and he forces himself to take slow, even breaths. _Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty._

Back in Pierce's bedroom, Sean jerks his clothes off, dropping them on the chair in the corner. _Forty-six. Forty-seven. Forty-eight._ He wonders if Pierce is following, watching, or if he's still out in the car, counting off seconds himself. The answer comes between _Fifty-two_ and _Fifty-three_ ; Sean hears footsteps in the hallway. He's kneeling, his hands are on his knees again, and he's only just noticing how cold the floor is under his legs when Pierce walks into the room.

"Good," Pierce murmurs. "Very. How do you feel, lad?"

"Nervous, again, Sir," Sean whispers.

"About what?"

"The fact that I haven't a clue what's about to happen to me."

"Is that a sort of nervousness you find favorable?" Pierce asks.

"Very favorable, yes, Sir," Sean whispers.

"Good. Stand up and face the post there at the right side of the bedframe."

Sean glances up first, and what he sees has his breath stuttering a bit before he manages to take to his feet. The corner of Pierce's canopy has a pair of cuffs slung over it, the chain connecting the cuffs wrapped around the metal bars of the canopy frame. The cuffs are leather, and they buckle. Sean takes another nervous breath and stands looking up at the cuffs, wondering whether he should reach for them.

Pierce takes his left hand first, and pulls the cuff down slightly so he can get Sean's wrist buckled into it. The right hand next, and Sean's hands are suspended slightly above his head. He could rest his forehead against the post if he were so inclined; it's steel, though, and slender, and would not offer much support. He wraps both hands around it anyway; the cool metal feels good under his palms, and his breathing has finally reached an even keel.

"It doesn't take much, does it?" Pierce smirks. "Just the cuffs, and you could come if I ordered it. Couldn't you, lad?"

"...maybe," Sean murmurs.

"I think I'll start you off with clamps," Pierce decides. He heads for a drawer, one which is inside Sean's line of vision, and comes back with tiny silver clamps shaped a bit like tweezers. "Turn a bit," Pierce orders.

Sean takes a small step back, releasing the post, and turns to give Pierce access to the left half of his body. Pierce pinches Sean's nipple between his fingers, gently at first, and then less so, until Sean is hissing and trying not to twist away. When his nipple's gone hard under Pierce's fingers, Pierce puts on the first clamp, sliding the tension ring on the clamps until they hold tight and are just short of making Sean cry out. The entire procedure repeats on the opposite side, and when he's done, the chain rests against Sean's chest, swinging lightly and altering the weight of the clamps so he can never quite adjust to it. His hands grip the post again, harder than ever. _Now_ he could come, if ordered. Nearly any order would do it, he thinks.

 _Christ almighty, what's the matter with me?_

"Good lad," Pierce murmurs. He puts a hand flat on Sean's stomach and slides it up his chest; when it reaches the chain between Sean's nipples, he tugs lightly. Sean cries out and jerks forward, into the touch; he pants when Pierce releases the chain.

"I can't decide," Pierce murmurs. "I could introduce you to the flogger, now, or I could start by putting clothespins all over you."

"Clothespins?" Sean asks, startled. It makes sense as soon as he thinks about it -- the clamps feel fucking astonishing -- but he'd never thought about clothespins as a sexual object before.

"Clothespins it is," Pierce grins. He runs his hands down from Sean's shoulders to the base of his spine, then leaves a sharp bite at the point where shoulder meets neck.

Sean hisses and leans into the bite. "Yes, please," he whispers. He pushes past the twitch of nervousness in his stomach and adds, "Feels good."

"Do you like teeth, lad?" Pierce asks. He adds another bite on Sean's shoulder, and then another at the base of his neck. Sean is nearly trembling under Pierce's teeth, and when Pierce places his teeth on the back of Sean's neck but doesn't bite down, Sean begins to shake.

"Please, Pierce," Sean whispers. "Please..."

"You're not going anywhere, are you, lad?" Pierce whispers against Sean's skin.

"No... I'm not, please..."

"You'll be here this weekend. Won't you."

"Yes, _God_ , yes. Pierce, please, hurt me."

Pierce reaches up and grips a fistful of Sean's hair, yanking his head back. Sean's eyes close, and he moans softly. "I'm going to hurt you," Pierce murmurs. "I'm going to hurt you tonight. And tomorrow night. And this weekend when you're mine, I'm going to make you scream."

" _Yes_ ," Sean breathes. "Oh, God, _please_ , yes."

Pierce's free hand comes up again and tugs at the chain between Sean's nipples again. This time, Sean doesn't move; he lets out several small, sharp, choking cries, but remains still.

"Pain looks so beautiful on you," Pierce murmurs. "Stay still, lad." He lets the chain and Sean's hair go, and steps back to his drawer, where he draws out a velvet cloth bag. He tosses the bag down at the corner of the bed and pulls out a black clothespin, the tips dipped in some kind of latex. A sharp pinch of skin at Sean's side, just above his hip, and Pierce lets the clothespin down.

"Oh _f-- God_ ," Sean lets out, quickly stifling the curse. He grips the post harder, almost shaking.

"Does it hurt?" Pierce whispers. He trails a fingertip up from Sean's hip, about six inches, and sets another clothespin there.

"Yes, God, yes, it hurts," Sean manages.

"Do you like it?"

"Very much, yes," Sean pants.

"Good." Pierce runs his fingertip up another six inches and sets a third clothespin at chest level. "I think half a dozen right now." He begins making the same path up Sean's other side, and Sean does his best not to squirm. "That's it," Pierce murmurs. When all six have been attached, Pierce slides his hands onto Sean's waist, between the lower two clothespins, and tugs Sean back so Sean's ass is pressed hard against Pierce's groin. Pierce hums softly. "Can you feel how much I like seeing you in pain?" Pierce asks.

Sean moans and nods; words seem like too much right now, and he doesn't think he can offer them, but he arches his back and presses his ass harder against Pierce's erection. He moans again, pleading with it.

"Such beautiful sounds," Pierce whispers. "Do you think you'd make ones just as pretty for me if I were fucking you right now?"

Sean's voice shakes so hard he can barely get the word out. " _Please_."

"You seemed to like it when I was careless with lubrication," Pierce murmurs. "Perhaps you'd like it better if I were even more sparing about such things?"

"Yes -- please," Sean begs. "Sir."

Pierce goes to the nightstand and takes out a condom. It's lubricated; he lets down his trousers, tears open the condom packet, and slides it on, putting his hands on Sean's shoulders when he's done. "I like hearing you plead," Pierce whispers. His hands slide down Sean's sides, and he strikes each clothespin, top set, middle set, bottom set, as he goes. Sean jerks and gasps against each of them, finally biting down on his lower lip to keep from crying out or begging. It's one thing to have the cries drawn out of him forcibly; it's another to open his mouth and let them go.

Sean can feel Pierce's thumbs stretching him, parting his cheeks, and the nudging of the tip of Pierce's cock against his opening. "Please," he whispers. "Take me."

Pierce thrusts forward once, hard; it takes him in just past the head of his cock before the insufficient lubrication stops him. Sean's mouth opens wide, and he gasps, trying to press back and take more.

"Is it good, lad?" Pierce asks; he holds Sean's hips steady with both hands and gives another sharp, fast thrust. Sean moans and nods, but doesn't manage to form more words.

Another thrust, and Pierce is halfway there. He lets his hands glide up over Sean's hips and twists the clothespins there, making Sean throw his head back and gasp. Sean's body jerks hard, and he presses back enough to gain another inch. Pierce finally wraps an arm around his waist and tugs him back, shoving forward, pulling back so he can struggle his way in deeper, growling and panting lightly until he's all the way in.

"Tell me how it feels," Pierce hisses.

Sean can't get words out. He shakes his head, and Pierce reaches up to tug at the chain of his nipple clamps. Sean struggles against the cuffs, against Pierce's grip on him, shaking his head and getting out harsh, rasped sounds. "Please," he manages, finally.

"Are you hungry for it, lad?" Pierce asks.

Sean nods hard, still arching and twisting against Pierce's grip.

"Then _beg_ for it. Beg me to hurt you."

Sean's head drops forward, and his breath breaks over a frustrated sob. The words are gone, missing completely, and he doesn't know how to get them back.

Pierce reaches up to the uppermost clothespin on Sean's left side. He presses down, tightening the pin's grip on Sean's skin. " _Beg me_ ," Pierce repeats.

Sean can't beg. The sound coming up in his throat is a rolling, thundering scream that starts in the center of his chest and works its way out from there. It's all he can do to keep from coming.

Pierce starts up a rocking, brutal rhythm, his arm holding Sean's waist steady so he can fuck into him with short, sharp strokes. His free hand alternates between striking at the pins on Sean's side and reaching around to tug rhythmically at the chain of his clamps. "Beg me," Pierce whispers, "and you can come," and he keeps going, hand reaching back to the lowest of the pins. He gives a fast flick of his wrist, and yanks the clothespin off, making Sean arch forward, scrambling to get away. There's nowhere to go, and Pierce reaches up to the next pin. "You know what's coming," he whispers. " _Beg._ "

Sean hesitates a moment too long, and Pierce rips the second pin off, making Sean scream. In the scream, there are words, finally: "Oh, God, hurts so much, more, _please_."

"Good lad," Pierce breathes, and he lifts his hand to the last of the pins on that side, twisting it sharply. Sean bucks against him, moaning, pleading, and Pierce lets go. "Do you want it torn off you?" he asks.

"Please, God, yes," Sean stammers out. "Hurt me, Master. Please."

 _Master_ , off Sean's lips -- before it's been earned or asked for, but all the same, that word from Sean -- Pierce rips the pin off and then switches the position of his arms, letting his thumb brush against the lowest pin with every thrust into Sean's body.

Sean's hands finally lose their grip on the post. He lets them separate, the chain wrapped up in such a way as to put them at either side of his head. He wraps his hands around the chain, lengthening the stretch of his body as he arches and growls for what Pierce is doing to him.

"You come when I tell you," Pierce breathes, "come when I ask it of you," and he reaches up to the top pin on Sean's side, squeezing the pin almost gently as he pulls it off.

The added pain from that makes Sean's eyes water. He grits his teeth down, praying he can last as long as Pierce asks it of him.

"Such a good lad," Pierce murmurs, and he squeezes harder on the second pin as he twists it and then keeps twisting until it twists off. Sean jumps, arching back into the curve of Pierce's arm.

"Please, Pierce," Sean begs, "so close, can't last..."

"Maybe not," Pierce agrees. He rips the last of the pins off, and Sean screams, head going back to rest against Pierce's shoulder. Before the last of the scream has died down, Pierce reaches up and begins a punishing, rough rhythm with the chain, tugging at Sean's nipples until Sean is grunting helplessly, knuckles white as he tries not to come. "But you've held out long enough," Pierce whispers. "Come now, lad. Come for me."

Sean arches and throws his head back as he comes, his entire body feeling alive and beautiful. He can feel the orgasm from the balls of his feet to the top of his spine, and it nearly tears him to pieces. His arms jerk against the cuffs; his body bucks in Pierce's embrace, and he lets his breath out in one long scream, the scream dying down into a soft, growling moan as Sean's breath finally exhausts itself. He takes in a rougher, gasping breath, and then the floodgates open wide. Sean breaks apart, sobs tearing themselves from his throat in harsh, almost-desperate sounds.

Pierce keeps an arm wrapped around Sean's waist, but the other arm reaches up to unbuckle his wrists. He works one wrist out of its cuff, then helps settle it down, gently, not simply letting it drop, and then he switches arms so he can offer the same treatment to the other wrist. Sean is limp against him, still sobbing, and Pierce presses him forward, onto the bed where Sean can sprawl out.

He doesn't sprawl, though. He curls up on his side, and his arms come in close to his chest. The sobs are shaking his entire body, and Pierce takes a moment to strip the condom off before climbing up into the bed alongside Sean. He doesn't press the length of his body to Sean's; he stays seated, one hand resting on Sean's shoulder. Still, that's enough contact for Sean; he grabs for Pierce's hand and tugs it forward, pressing it to his lips, leaving kisses all over it, nuzzling against it and letting tears go against Pierce's palm.

"All right," Pierce whispers. "It's all right, lad."

Sean shakes his head, but it's unclear whether he means to nuzzle against Pierce's palm more or whether he's disagreeing. Pierce lets out a soft sigh, and then draws his hand away, moving it back to Sean's shoulder and then drawing it up Sean's neck, carding fingers through his hair.

The gentle caress ends almost immediately, though; once Pierce's fingers have sunk themselves into Sean's hair, he grips hard and yanks Sean's head back. "And for all that, you've left me unsatisfied," Pierce hisses.

Sean scrambles to turn over, breaking free of Pierce's grip in his hair to get his face into Pierce's lap, nuzzling at Pierce's cock and diving down on it as if it's his lifeline. Pierce's head jerks back in shock, and as soon as he recovers, he fists both hands in Sean's hair, not letting Sean do as he pleases with that talented mouth of his this time. This time he's jerking Sean's head forward, fucking into Sean's mouth roughly, and when Sean gags and clutches at Pierce's thighs, Pierce spills himself over, coming with his teeth clenched over the growled, rasped breaths he wants to let go. He shoves Sean back, ignoring the way Sean chokes and coughs, watching Sean as he gets his forearms underneath him on the bed and tries to draw a breath.

"Turn over," Pierce growls. He shoves at Sean's shoulder and pushes him to his back. Sean is still in those nipple clamps, and Pierce pulls off one, then the other, in quick, vicious succession. Sean screams again and tries to curl up, hands coming up instinctively to protect his nipples. Pierce puts a fist in his hair and shakes him hard. "Fucking slut," he bites out. "Go and clean up. And then come back here, and kneel at the side of the bed."

Sean has no idea how he can move at a moment like this. He pushes himself up so he's sitting, and then forces himself off the bed, walking in an uneven, unsteady line toward the bathroom. He doesn't shut the door once he gets there; he finds a washcloth and soaks it in cool water, then uses it to clean up his cock and his face. He leans on the counter for a few seconds to steady himself before beginning the walk back to Pierce's bed.

Pierce has stripped out of his clothes, and is under the covers now, sighing with pleasure. When Sean takes to his knees at the side of the bed, Pierce lifts an eyebrow and then lets out a soft harrumph.

"All right. You've done well enough to sleep at my feet." Pierce snaps his fingers and points to the foot of the bed. "Perhaps next time you'll do well enough to earn a blanket."

Nodding, Sean climbs up into the bed, stretching out as best he can across the foot of it. He rests his head against Pierce's legs and puts both arms around his feet, and then shivers and shakes until Pierce turns the light out and settles in to sleep.


	5. Claim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No more theory. No more _if_.

Sean is shocked when he wakes up. It's not quite light in the room, but a glance at the clock on the nightstand shows that it's half past three. That's more sleep than he expected to get; when Pierce first switched the light off, Sean was convinced he wasn't going to sleep at all.

Sean shifts and pushes himself upright. He can still feel a twinge of pain on his right side, just above his hip; he presses his thumb to the spot where the clothespin was yanked off him, and hisses. The rest of the spots have faded by now, but that one left a small bruise. Sean doesn't quite know what to make of it. The pain from it -- that's good, and he's glad to have felt it. But he's bruised now, bruised because he wanted it and Pierce was willing to give it to him. No accident, no pretending he didn't want it that way. And after Pierce hurt him and reduced him to tears, Sean curled up around his feet and slept.

"Are you going somewhere, lad?" The low mumble from the other end of the bed gets Sean's attention instantly, and Sean crawls forward, planting himself on his knees and lowering his forehead to the bed. It _feels_ right -- so much of what he's done with Pierce has been purely on instinct -- and Sean tries to collect his thoughts, wondering what one says after a night like this one.

The silence gets through to Pierce after a few seconds, and with a rustle of covers, he pushes himself up until he's sitting. "How are you feeling this morning, Sean?" Pierce asks.

"I don't know," Sean whispers. "Cold."

Pierce lifts the covers back and opens his arms. "Come here."

Sean curls himself into Pierce's side immediately, shivering. Pierce wraps him up in arms and covers, and Sean keeps shivering, long past the point where it's simply a matter of not being warm enough.

"Frightened?" Pierce murmurs.

"Quite," Sean manages to get out.

Pierce draws fingertips up and down the curve of Sean's lower back. "Do you want it to stop?" he asks.

"God, no. No, I don't want it to stop. Last night was..." Sean shakes his head. "I don't know, but I don't want it to stop."

"I told you in the beginning that I don't do this as a hobby. You're either serious or you're not." Pierce presses his lips to Sean's forehead. "You're serious, whether you realize it or not. This is what you need."

"I know that," Sean whispers. "I'm sure of that now."

"And all it took was cuffs and clamps and clothespins to get you there? You don't ask much."

Sean shakes his head. "Is that all there is?"

"It's not even close, lad."

"I thought not." He can't put his finger on what else is out there, but even last night it was more than the cuffs and clamps and clothespins. It was more than Pierce's arm around him, Pierce hurting him and fucking him. Something about the way he collapsed -- something about the way Pierce didn't let him, and the way Sean got up without even knowing whether he could do it or not... Sean shakes his head again. "If I wanted to be serious -- the way you'd expect me to be serious -- what else do I need to know?"

"Shall we eliminate the _ifs_ from this conversation?" Pierce asks. "I don't do things on theory. We both know you want to be mine; now we're discussing the practical aspects of it."

Sean goes silent. It's a much more concrete commitment, suddenly, and while he isn't backing off, he does have doubts. "I only -- what if..."

"Is there anything I could tell you that would make you back away from this now?" Pierce cups the back of Sean's neck in his hand, and his thumb grazes over the side of it.

Sean shivers. "No," he whispers.

"Anything I could ask of you that you'd refuse, outright, to give me?"

Sean buries his head further in Pierce's shoulder and shakes his head. "No."

"Do you trust me?"

A pause, and then a small nod. "Yes."

"You shouldn't." Pierce squeezes Sean's neck. "But you're new at this, and you don't know any better."

"I have to trust you," Sean murmurs. "How far do we get if I don't?"

"How far do we get if you do?" Pierce counters. "What you want is the thrill. The edge. If you trust me, you'll lose that."

That's wrong. Sean's not sure about much, but those words don't have the same certain, powerful ring to them that he's been feeling whenever Pierce touches him. "I might," he murmurs. "I'm willing to take the chance."

"You'll regret it," Pierce promises. "Try to keep your heart and your trust in the same place, lad. Well away from me. This isn't about love. It isn't about trust." He slides his hand up, fists it in Sean's hair. One too-quick yank, and Sean's breath comes out in a harsh hiss. Pierce trails fingertips over Sean's neck, and Sean shudders hard. His eyes don't close, but his breath comes out from behind clenched teeth.

They hold position like that until Sean can't stand it anymore. "What's it about?" he whispers.

" _Need_ ," Pierce murmurs. "Finding out what you need, and what you can do for me."

Sean's eyes close, finally. "Good enough," he breathes. "Take me."

Pierce leans forward and closes his teeth over the center of Sean's throat. "That's not how you ask for it," he murmurs.

"Will you take me?" Sean whispers.

"Try again." Another bite, this one rougher. "Ask me properly, lad."

Sean's breath slides out of him. "Please, Master, take me."

"That's my lad," Pierce smiles. "You're mine."


	6. Housebroken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean moves into Pierce's house.

_You're mine._

The words repeat in the back of Sean's mind as he puts his suitcase in the back of his car. The loose ends have been tied. His house is on the market. His finances have been mothballed, for all intents and purposes, and his belongings have either gone to auction or storage. _Think of it as if I'm going on a extended sabbatical_ , he's told everyone who needs to know, and to the world outside that's essentially what's happening.

Arrangements have been made with Pierce's accountants, with his attorneys. Sean was astonished by the sheer amount of paperwork required to sign one's life away. But then, anyone who balked at the paperwork wouldn't last a week living in Pierce's home. Sean balked at nothing.

Sean was right. There was nothing that would have kept him away from this, once it was offered. Signing document after document meant nothing. The reality of walking away from his house meant nothing. Choosing the clothes and books and photographs that were coming to Pierce's house with him meant very little, because he understood they're not truly his anymore.

The last weeks of filming passed much the same as that first night: pain, sex, and a shivering feeling that he could accomplish anything when it was coming as a command from his Master. There have been few bruises; Sean's skin has gone red a time or two, but nothing more than that, not during filming. Pierce is cautious.

Sean appreciates caution. It has not escaped him that he's new at this, and that what he's getting from Pierce is the tip of a dangerous and deadly iceberg, something that could take him flat out of the water if he let it. Pierce is, as ridiculous as this seems at times, Sean's protection.

For all Pierce's warning about trust being a mistake, Sean can't help himself. He's in Pierce's hands when Pierce is hurting him; he's at Pierce's mercy when he's cuffed to the bed or the wall or the hook in the cellar. Sean finds something in those moments. Trust. Respect. _Connection._ All one-sided, and that doesn't matter right now. The rest of it will come.

He pulls his car into Pierce's driveway and shuts off the engine. He leaves the keys in the ignition; Pierce will be doing as he pleases with the car. The title's already been signed over to him. Just one more thing among many that belongs to Pierce now.

He gets his suitcase out of the back of the car and heads up the walkway to Pierce's front door. Pierce is already standing there waiting for him, door open behind him.

"I always hoped you'd be late and give me a chance to discipline you for it," Pierce sighs. "Perhaps I'll punish you for disappointing me. That seems more common anyway." He steps aside and gestures at the entryway. "In, lad."

"Yes, Master," Sean murmurs. He steps inside and puts his suitcase down. His throat feels tight. _...disappointing me. ...seems more common anyway. When have I disappointed you? Christ, there's so much I don't know._

Pierce closes the door with a firm _click_. "Why are you here?" he asks.

Sean's been expecting this question. He sinks to his knees, hands behind his back. Pierce has never given him instructions on how to kneel; he's simply done what felt natural at every step and hoped it was good enough. "To give myself to you. To become whatever you ask of me."

"Can't handle the pressure of crafting your own identity?" Pierce sneers. "Can't manage the possibility of being responsible for your own thoughts?"

 _It's the same kind of trick question he always asks after you please him,_ Sean reminds himself. _He wants you, or you wouldn't be here._ "No, Master," Sean whispers.

"'No, Master,'" Pierce mocks. "Let's try again. Do you agree or disagree with me?"

"I agree with you, Sir." Sean winces as soon as the words come out. "I agree, _Master_."

"Stupid pathetic boy," Pierce scoffs. "You want to be mine and you can't even remember who I am? Why in God's name would I want you? Why would anyone want you?"

"To train me... Master?" Sean whispers. It's a game. It's a test. Sean knows it, and the words still burn. Pierce knows what he's doing here, and Sean doesn't; Sean's still, after almost two months, a bloody goddamned amateur. There's a possibility Pierce means every word he's saying, test or not.

"No. Wrong."

Sean's eyes sting. "Then I don't know, Master."

Pierce reaches into his pocket and pulls out a length of black velvet ribbon. He crouches down next to Sean and stretches the ribbon out between his hands. Then he wraps the ribbon around Sean's neck, and ties a knot in the ribbon at the back of Sean's neck.

 _Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._ Sean feels like he's choking, feels as if he's got a length of steel pressing up against his neck. He can't stand it. Can't deal with it. Needs it off. _Fuck_. Off. _Now._

Pierce stands up and trails a hand through Sean's hair. "Because you have such beautiful reactions," Pierce says softly. "Because you so obviously want to be good."

"Master -- please," Sean whispers. His hands clench, fingers digging into his own wrist.

"Do you think I care if you're uncomfortable?" Pierce murmurs. He brushes a fingertip across Sean's throat, following the line of the velvet.

"No, Master."

"Why do you think I put this on you?" Pierce asks.

"I have no earthly idea, Master."

"That you wouldn't," Pierce says. "It's on you to mark you as being mine. It's on you because you haven't earned more than a strip of ribbon. It's on you because you need to remember what you are."

"Yes, Master," Sean chokes out. He can't breathe, and it hurts.

"You're my slave," Pierce continues. "I'm giving you that in advance, and you're going to spend as much time as it takes becoming a slave worthy of my ownership. If you can."

"And... if I can't?" Sean whispers.

"We'll find out," Pierce smiles. The smile is not affectionate in the least, and Sean shivers hard, seeing it.

 _Fuck. What have I signed myself into?  
_  
Sean blinks and then lowers his face to the floor, pressing his forehead to the rug between Pierce's feet. _It's still a test. You can manage whatever it is he's trying to get from you. Fucking calm down._ "Please -- let me -- whatever you need, Master; whatever you want from me. Please."

"Get your face off the floor, lad." The tone of Pierce's voice sounds utterly unmoved by Sean's sentiments.

Sean scrambles to get back into a kneel, shoving his arms behind his back. His eyes are still stinging. He looks up at Pierce, trying not to blink too heavily.

"Get your shirt off," Pierce murmurs. He crosses his arms over his chest, as if the milliseconds he has to wait to see Sean spring into action are an unacceptable delay.

Sean doesn't let that unsettle him. He doesn't rush. He slides his shirt over his shoulders, folds it neatly, and places it on the ground at his side. His hands go back behind him, and he grips his right wrist again, a bit more loosely now. The order has him a little more settled, though somehow he doubts that was Pierce's intent.

"Not quite right," Pierce observes. "Spread your knees apart a bit."

Sean obliges, and can feel the beginnings of that hum of arousal and interest coming up under his skin. Order following order. Sean has to restrain the urge to smile; he can sense it would be inappropriate here.

"Better," Pierce allows. "Put your hands on your knees. Palms up."

 _Better_. Sean's eyes close briefly as he draws his hands around and rests them palms-up on his knees. The single word of praise is enough; he'll be savoring that for the rest of the day.

"All right," Pierce says. "This is how I want you when you're at rest. Keep your back straight, but for Christ's sake don't go tense. Don't want you to end up cramped or stiff." Pierce runs a rough hand through Sean's hair. "Keep your eyes lowered if there's anyone here apart from the two of us. If it's just us, I want your eyes on me all the time. You don't get to hide anything in your eyes. Understand?"

"Yes, Master," Sean murmurs. He glances up accordingly, fitting his eyes on Pierce's face.

Pierce slides his fingertips down Sean's face, tilting Sean's chin up a bit further and rubbing his thumb over Sean's lips. Sean doesn't take the initiative, doesn't open his lips and slide his tongue out over Pierce's thumb. He holds entirely still, waiting.

"I like the costume as well," Pierce says. "The bare chest. I think I'd rather have you in leather. I might have to have some things made for you. I'll bring my tailor in to see to your measurements. Perhaps sometime this week."

"As it pleases you, Master," Sean murmurs.

Pierce smiles. "God's teeth, lad. You are the most sincere boy I think I've ever owned. I've had ones who wanted to please, who were desperate to please, but you..." Pierce lowers his hand and runs fingertips over the velvet. Sean flinches, shudders; his throat clenches, and he chokes a bit. None of it is hidden. The discomfort shows clearly in his eyes and his posture. "There's something delicious about you. You truly are going to be a showcase piece."

"Thank you, Master," Sean manages. It's not easy, not with those fingers trailing over his throat.

" _Someday_ ," Pierce emphasizes. "But not yet."

Pierce takes a step back and lashes out hard with the back of his hand. It connects with Sean's cheek, and Sean's entire upper body rocks to the side from it. Sean stays half-pitched over, breathing heavily, uncertain. He pants lightly, trying to make sense of it.

"Kneel up," Pierce says. His tone is entirely normal. There's no anger in it. No emotion of _any_ sort, really, and Sean is more confused than ever.

The confusion shows clearly when Sean gets his eyes up again, meeting Pierce's gaze. "Master...?"

Another backhanded slap, and this time Sean knows enough to get his posture back in form immediately. "Yes?" Pierce asks quietly.

"Master--"

This time the slap comes openhanded, across Sean's other cheek. Sean pulls himself back into position, but can't seem to get his eyes open this time.

"Eyes, lad."

Sean tries. He manages to blink his eyes open, but he can't look up. He flinches away from Pierce, dropping his eyes to the floor.

Pierce crouches down and reaches out for Sean's nipple, not just pinching but twisting it so hard Sean can't help canting over towards it, into the twist in an effort to ease the pain. He gets his eyes open and on Pierce. Hurt, confusion, and bits of anger are sparking in them, and for all that, Sean's hands are still loose, curled lightly on his knees.

"There," Pierce growls. "You don't hide your eyes from me."

"I'm sorry, Master," Sean bites out. His voice is unfiltered, an angry growl itself, and his breath is beginning to pick up from the grip on his nipple. It hurts, badly, almost as much as anything Pierce has done to him, and it's fucking _perfect_. The unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach, the uncertainty from wondering what in hell Pierce meant by the slaps, the confusion and frustration -- all those things are _good_ , when Sean lets himself feel them, lets his body respond to them.

Pierce lets Sean's nipple go, and Sean's breath rushes out of his chest all at once. His eyes are more than stinging now; they're full of tears, and the tears are beginning to spill over. Pierce rubs his thumb across Sean's cheek and takes one of the tears off his lashes.

"God, you are a wealth of beautiful emotions. All this, and you aren't even close to breaking for me. Are you?" Pierce draws his hand back and stands up again. "Whatever it is you wanted to ask, you don't get to ask it. You haven't earned the right to question anything. Lesson six: When you're permitted a question, I'll tell you what that question is. Do you understand, lad?"

"Yes, Master, I understand." Keeping his hands loose is difficult, holding this position worse still. Sean would lean over if he could, would put his face on the floor again and beg forgiveness. But forgiveness, too, is not his to ask for, and not his to take. He keeps his eyes open and on Pierce. He doesn't understand, not yet, but he will. He's filing away these lessons in his memory, even though he suspects Pierce makes them up, number and all, as he goes.

"Good lad." Pierce plants a hand in Sean's hair and draws his face in, rubbing it lightly against his cock. "Do you want this?"

Sean exhales hard before answering. "Yes, Master, very much."

"Take it."

Sean's hands scramble up to Pierce's fly, and he slips his hand in, giving his cock a firm stroke before pulling it out and glancing up to Pierce again. He's not looking for permission -- he's already got that -- but he wants to convey a small measure of his gratitude. Pierce's grip on his hair tightens, and Sean hisses; he doesn't waste any more time. _Yes._ His lips part, and he slides his mouth down over Pierce's cock, swallowing hard as he comes forward.

Both of Pierce's hands are fisted in Sean's hair now, tugging. He isn't guiding Sean's movements. The pain of the tug is simply _there_ , and Sean's not quite sure why. A gift? A reward? A distraction? Goddamnit, Sean's not normally this slow. He figures things out, he learns fast, and he should be catching on by now.

 _Catch on. Just breathe, and suck him off, and catch on._

It doesn't take long. It never seems to take long, and Sean wonders how long he could draw it out if given half a chance. The chance doesn't come; Pierce finally takes over, thrusting hard into Sean's mouth, and lets out a harsh gasp as he comes, holding Sean steady at the end and sliding one hand down to cup the back of Sean's neck.

Sean settles his hands on Pierce's hips, thumbs circling over his hipbones. He can still breathe, albeit with difficulty, and this moment of quiet connection is worth holding onto for as long as Pierce will let it last. Sean doesn't disguise his disappointment when Pierce pulls back and brushes Sean's hands from his body. He goes back to the pose Pierce wanted to see him in, and looks up again as Pierce buttons up his trousers.

"Something the matter, lad?" Pierce murmurs.

"No, Master." Sean shakes his head. "I'm glad to have pleased you, Master."

"Come on. On your feet." Pierce turns on his heel and heads toward the staircase; he gestures vaguely behind him at Sean's suitcase. "Bring that along with you. Follow me."

Sean takes up his discarded shirt and his suitcase and half-jogs to catch up with Pierce as he makes his way up the stairs. He frowns a bit; Pierce's bedroom is past the dining room, on the main floor. This doesn't make sense. Not unless his belongings are going into storage.

But that's not it. Pierce guides Sean to a small bedroom, one that's sparsely furnished with a bed, an empty bookshelf, and a single nightstand with a small lamp. There's a wardrobe in one corner, and a small window that looks out on the back garden. "This is your room," Pierce says. "When I've no use for you, you'll be staying here. If you earn time to yourself, you spend it here. Unless I tell you otherwise, this is where you sleep."

The ribbon around Sean's neck feels uncomfortably tight suddenly; this was unexpected. "I won't be at your feet?" he murmurs. He puts the suitcase down, drops the shirt on top of it.

"I think I've spent enough time coddling you. Don't you think?" Pierce walks over to Sean and begins tugging at the buttons of his fly, one at a time, almost casually. "You are here because it suits my fancy to see you here. I'm not here to entertain you, lad. It's very much the other way around." His hand slides into Sean's trousers, and Sean lets out a sharp breath, back going ramrod-straight. "If I want your company, you provide it. If I want your body, you offer it. If I want your come, you don't hold back. Give it to me. Now." His hand curls around Sean's cock, and he begins stroking. Sean's eyes close as he tries to clear his thoughts enough to concentrate on the feel of Pierce's hand on his skin.

 _Think of how he fucks you. How he manages to make things good for you, even when you think you can't take more. Think of those hands in your hair, of--_

"Eyes open," Pierce snaps. "You're never going to learn, are you?"

Sean's eyes snap open, and he grunts softly in the back of his throat, spilling his come obediently over Pierce's fingers. Pierce keeps stroking, slicking Sean's come back over his cock, until Sean is shaking under his touch and struggling to keep his eyes from closing. The wince on Sean's face is painful, and his jaw is clenched so tight it's beginning to tremble.

"You can take this," Pierce murmurs, "because I say you can." He gives one last rough, twisting stroke, and then pulls his hand away. Sean lets out a whispered breath, the wince coming off his face at last.

"Thank you, Master," Sean whispers. He works his jaw a bit, trying to recover from the clench. "May I clean your hand, Master?"

"That doesn't interest me at the moment, no. You've got three hours and then I want dinner. Come down whenever you need to in order to get it started. I'll see you again at seven." Pierce snags Sean's shirt from the top of the suitcase and wipes his hand clean, then drops the shirt haphazardly on the floor. "Seven sharp, lad. Don't be late."

As soon as Pierce leaves, Sean sinks onto the bed, taking the shirt with him. He buries his face in it for a moment. Christ, this aches, and he doesn't know why.


	7. Spectacle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierce invites a few friends over to see Sean.

_This is what people mean when they say the honeymoon's over._ Sean shakes his head as he gets newspaper, flower, coffee, and toast onto a tray and heads through the house to Pierce's bedroom. It's been a week now, and things have been much the same as they were that first day. Confusing, boring, uncertain, with random bouts of violence and sex thrown in. Just enough to keep Sean from wondering why he's here at all.

The month he spent at Pierce's house was not an accurate prologue to what he's getting now, he's discovered. That month was spent testing out Sean's interests and potential limits. Pierce never approached anything that made Sean nervous or uncomfortable, and now that Sean's thinking about it, he finds that inconceivable. He's been nothing but uncomfortable since moving in here, and he can't understand what the difference is.

Sean goes to his knees and lifts the tray up to shoulder level, getting it within easy reach for Pierce. Pierce makes a soft grunting noise and pulls the newspaper off the tray, unfolding it and taking a few minutes to look over the headlines.

Sean counted seconds the first day this happened. It's something he's done through most of his life as an actor, ticking off seconds and memorizing places where he's supposed to make an entrance or an exit. Precision and detail are two of his strengths in general, not just as a slave. He knows it takes approximately three minutes and fifteen seconds for Pierce to finish with his initial glance through the paper, after which he'll take his coffee and settle down with it for somewhere between eighty and ninety seconds. After those seconds have gone by, Pierce will take the toast, and Sean can put the tray down. He's never been forced to keep the tray aloft for more than five minutes, and his shoulders are beginning to grow used to the effort.

"I have visitors coming today," Pierce murmurs as he takes the coffee. "A few people who are interested in seeing my new boy."

Sean blinks a few times, then nods. He's never been introduced to anyone as Pierce's boy, and Pierce is relatively subtle when they go out for any reason. There are a few different collars now, all fitted fabric with hooks and eyes to keep them in place, and Sean hates them all. But they're better than having ribbon tied around his neck, and they don't get much attention. At least Pierce doesn't have Sean eating off the floor when they go out, which is more than Sean gets at home. At least Pierce refrains from using the title "lad" when they're out in public.

Sean had no idea there were people out there who might be interested in seeing him on his knees for Pierce, and doesn't quite know what to make of the idea of being a display piece. But he's nodding, not protesting. He doesn't protest anything here. Hasn't yet, probably won't. This is the way things are for him now, and it's not his place to complain.

"Try not to do anything to humiliate me," Pierce says. "I've told them that you're new to this, of course, but after a month under me you should at least know what's expected."

 _What's expected._ Sean does know that much. He's expected to be quiet, to snap to orders whenever Pierce makes them, and to keep his eyes on Pierce at all times. He's expected to take pain well -- that much is never difficult -- and to give his best efforts to getting Pierce off. He's expected to come on command, which is harder. It would be almost easy if Sean could close his eyes when he's nearing orgasm. But the point of being here is that it's not easy, after all. He's getting better at it.

"I will do my best to make you proud, Master," Sean whispers.

"I don't think you can manage that," Pierce replies. "But we'll see, won't we?"

Pierce takes the toast, and Sean puts the tray down very carefully. He doesn't sigh or stretch his shoulders out; he made both those mistakes early on, and is much more careful these days. He keeps his eyes on Pierce, watching steadily as Pierce finishes his breakfast and reads through the paper. Sean sometimes manages to pick up bits and pieces of articles as Pierce goes, but not often. He's not permitted a radio, never permitted a newspaper on his own, and has no idea what's been happening in the world since he came here. He supposes that, too, is part of the point of being here -- being isolated from the rest of the world. His entire purpose is now to see to Pierce's pleasure. The rest of it doesn't matter, or shouldn't, and Sean is not willing to complain about his isolation.

"All right," Pierce says, putting the newspaper down. "Go and clean up breakfast while I shower. When you're finished, take your place next to my armchair in the living room and wait for me. If my visitors arrive early, which is unlikely but possible, answer the door. Do _not_ meet their eyes. Be polite to them. You may introduce yourself as my boy, but not by name. Names do not exist here until I call for them. They may do as they please to you, but if they aren't interested, take your place by the armchair again. Is there any part of these instructions that you don't understand?"

"No, Master."

"Good. Snap to it, lad."

Sean nods and comes to his feet in one fluid motion, bringing the tray with him. He collects the plate, the mug, and the newspaper, and he heads off to the kitchen. _They may do as they please to you._ Sean shakes his head. That idea should not be getting him nearly this hard. He puzzles it out as he sets the paper in the recycling bin and washes the dishes.

It's the unpredictability. Being with Pierce has gotten alarmingly predictable, almost as bad in its way as the random encounters with strangers he's had over the years. Breakfast, then hours alone. Lunch. Some kind of sexual activity, often sucking Pierce off, sometimes being fucked hard over the dining room table, occasionally being made to pull himself off and lick the come from wherever it's landed. More hours alone. Dinner, a few hours at Pierce's side in the early evening, and then sometimes more sex and sometimes something painful. Sean doesn't know if it's going to get worse or better as time goes by. He doesn't know if he's somehow failed to earn more attention than this. The boredom he can manage; not knowing what he can do to change it has been killing him.

Random strangers, then, and that will be better than the endless monotony of being here on his own. Sean is determined to make a good showing. He might not be able to impress Pierce -- he never seems quite able to do that -- but if he can impress the visitors, they might be willing to come back.

Sean finishes with the dishes and goes out to the living room, kneeling down beside Pierce's armchair. Pierce is nowhere to be seen, not that this is unexpected, and Sean lets his eyes fall closed, enjoying the rest.

It doesn't last long. Four and a half minutes pass in silence, and then Sean hears noises outside the door, quiet voices and soft laughter -- he can pick out at least two different voices, possibly three -- and then the sharp rap of knuckles against wood. Sean glides to his feet and walks out to the front door, lowering his eyes carefully before opening it.

"Well, now, aren't you a piece of work. Not at all Pierce's usual type, are you?"

Sean hesitates. It's a question, a direct question, but he has no idea what the answer is. In the end, he stays silent, waiting for something he can actually answer. He steps aside to let the visitors in, and one of them backs him into the entryway's wall and pins him there, hands pressing Sean's upper arms to the wall while his thigh rubs against Sean's cock. Sean closes his eyes and exhales quietly.

"This is new," someone else says. "He's got a quiet one this time. Unless he's been ordered silent. Can you speak, boy?"

Sean shivers and nods. "Yes, Sir," he murmurs. This gets him a slight chuckle from the man pinning him to the wall, a light nip of teeth on the side of his neck. He inhales sharply, back arching up off the wall. It's not an intentional attempt at struggling, but he's caught and held down all the same.

"Oh, isn't that lovely." It's the same man who asked Sean if he could speak, and now his voice is closer. Sean feels fingers slide through his hair and turns slightly to give his attention to the man who's speaking. "Pierce says you haven't been at this very long. Is that true, boy?"

"Yes, Sir," Sean whispers. The man pinning him to the wall presses his lips to Sean's shoulder, and then bites down hard. Sean's head slams back into the wall, all attention focused on those teeth, and the movement of his head causes the man who was playing with his hair to grip hard, pinning Sean's head back to the wall as well.

"Like teeth, do you?" asks the man with the grip on Sean's hair. "Get words out, boy."

"Yes, Sir, I like teeth," Sean manages.

The teeth pinch down harder at that, and Sean jerks again.

"Careful, Brian, don't mark him."

The teeth come away. "I'm sorry, Master." Brian chuckles again. "He tastes fantastic. Sweat and fear and lust. I'm amazed he can control himself this well. He's dying for it."

Too many pieces of information to keep track of. Sean is trying desperately not to get confused. He counted three men, and the one who's been talking most is a master. The one with his hands and teeth all over Sean is Brian, and he's this master's boy. And he's reading Sean beautifully, which has Sean half-nervous, half-desperate. Sean swallows hard. He's not far off from begging, and he has no idea if he's allowed to beg for attention from these men.

"I think that's enough for now, Brian. Besides, I'm sure Edward would like a look at Pierce's new boy. Go into the living room and wait there for us."

"Yes, Master." Brian leans forward and brushes his lips against Sean's; Sean lets out a very soft, distressed noise. Brian tightens his grip on Sean's arms for a moment before letting him go. "Fuck, he's beautiful. I want one."

" _Now_ , boy," says Brian's master, not without amusement. Brian nods and heads away.

The master's grip on Sean's hair loosens, and he slides his hand down Sean's face, over his shoulder, down his arm. "He's right, you know. You _are_ beautiful. I'm Theo; this is Edward." Theo chuckles. "You might want to look up at us, just so you can match faces to names, boy."

Sean does so, being careful not to make eye contact. Theo is a good four inches taller than Sean, dark skin, bald, goatee; he's dressed casually, khaki trousers and a lavender polo shirt. Edward is perhaps one of the most nondescript men Sean's ever seen: brown hair, brown eyes, charcoal-grey sweater and light grey trousers, and he has a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Sean barely saw Brian, and will have to take another look at him when he has the chance. He doesn't remember anything about Brian marking him as being a boy instead of a master, but Sean would be the first to admit that he's hardly one to know the difference.

"What's your name, boy?" Edward asks.

Sean pauses; Pierce told him not to introduce himself by name. But then, this is another direct question, and... damn it, Sean's confused again. He pauses, trying to decide his best move, and in the midst of his indecision, Pierce comes out of the rear of the house, to Sean's rescue.

"His name's Sean," Pierce says. "Sean, have you offered my guests anything to drink?"

Sean flushes red. "No, Master," he murmurs. With all the new masters around, Sean isn't sure whether he should have his eyes on Pierce or not, but there's no reason to assume the standing order to keep his eyes on Pierce isn't still in place. He looks up at Pierce. Pierce's eyes are ice-blue, and there's not enough emotion in them for Sean to read.

"I apologize for my new boy's lack of manners. He's not good for much yet." Pierce crosses his arms over his chest and takes his eyes away from Sean's, and Sean feels the loss like a physical blow.

"It's all right, Pierce," Theo murmurs. "How new _is_ he?"

"He's been mine a week, and he's been playing along these lines another month apart from that."

"Christ, you expect a lot," Theo says, shaking his head. "He's doing fine."

"May I--" Sean expected Pierce's review; he didn't expect anyone to defend him. The defense is almost more humiliating than the criticism. "May I offer any of you something to drink?" he asks quietly.

"We're fine," Theo says. The sharp tone in his voice seems hardly meant for Sean, and Sean wishes, very badly, that he could take his eyes off Pierce. Pierce is glaring at Theo. Sean doesn't know whether that's a long-standing rivalry or simply there because Theo seems to be attempting to undermine Pierce's grip on Sean; either way, it puts Sean in the center of an unfortunate sort of disagreement. "Let's take him back to the other room, shall we? I think Brian's more than ready to start."

"You're turning into a soft touch, Theo," Pierce sniffs. He makes a vague gesture to Sean. "Go on; get on your knees in front of Brian and be prepared to do whatever it is he wants." Clearly, Pierce isn't following; Sean doesn't know what to make of that, either, but he follows the order. Edward follows on Sean's heels.

The furniture in Pierce's living room is arranged in a semicircle surrounding a heavy square stone coffee table, one longer couch at the rear of the room facing a large stone fireplace, two shorter couches at ninety-degree angles to either side of the longer one. The only piece of furniture that is out of place in what would otherwise be a perfectly symmetrical arrangement is Pierce's armchair, which rests to the side of one of the two smaller couches, facing the coffee table at a slight angle. It does not dominate the room in any way; its position here is almost such that the armchair could go unnoticed and its occupant could sit back as a voyeur. There's a great deal of space in front of the coffee table, facing the fireplace; Sean suspects this is a stage of sorts, and wonders what exactly he'll have to do in order to put on a good performance.

Brian has taken a seat on the end of the shorter couch nearest Pierce's armchair. Sean heads over to him and kneels in front of Brian, glancing up to catalogue his appearance. Brian is pale, with blond hair that's short and hanging slightly in his eyes. His eyes are a warm brown, entirely too warm for Sean's taste. The naked interest has Sean more than a little nervous, especially now that he's been handed over to Brian for _whatever it is he wants_.

"Aren't you just lovely," Brian says. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and simply stares at Sean for a few long moments. "What's got you blushing, boy?"

Sean takes a few short breaths, collecting his thoughts before he answers. He finally settles on honesty. "I'm nervous, Sir."

"Are you? About what?"

"Kneeling for you, Sir." Sean can see silver glinting at the base of Brian's neck, peeking out from the collar of his polo shirt. It's a chain, as far as Sean can tell, one with tiny silver links about a quarter of an inch long. He wonders if it's a graduate collar of sorts, and how long Brian's been owned. Wonders what it took to earn metal, and if the collar is supposed to be nearly hidden this way, making it difficult to tell whether Brian's a slave or a master or something in between.

"That's lovely, boy, but I don't think it's quite accurate. I didn't see this sort of blush on you earlier, when I was touching you." One of Brian's hands comes down and traces the beginnings of Sean's blush, somewhere in the center of his chest, and then slides back up, over Sean's neck, fingertips gliding up to brush over Sean's cheeks. Sean's eyes close, and he sighs out a breath, unable to mask the pleasure in that exhalation. "Oh, but you do like my hands on you, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir, I like them," Sean breathes.

"What have you liked the most, this far?"

"Your teeth, Sir," Sean murmurs, and he can feel the blush intensifying.

"I thought so. Would you like to earn my teeth again?"

"Very much, Sir." It's all too easy -- slipping into this role with this complete stranger is easy -- and Sean wonders how he went his entire life never knowing it was out there. It's not just Pierce. There are other people who do this, other people in _training_ to do this. The idea is overwhelming.

"How would you like to do that, boy?"

Sean blinks his eyes open. "What would you like, Sir?" he asks.

"He's new at this, Brian," Edward points out quietly. "I don't think he knows what his options are."

"My options are at my Master's whim," Sean says, "and my Master instructed me to do whatever it is you like, Sir."

"That's a good answer, boy," Brian says. He reaches down to pinch one of Sean's nipples, rather forcefully. Sean hisses, but his body tilts forward, not backward; he arches into the pinch, trying to keep from crying out.

"That's quite an expression," Edward observes. "I can't tell whether he likes it or hates it."

"He's enjoying it." Brian's voice is full of quiet confidence. He eases his grip on Sean's nipple, then twists it hard. "He'd bruise up beautifully if Master would let me do it."

"I'm not so sure." Sean hears Edward's voice followed by the slight _thump_ that implies he's set the duffel bag on the floor. A moment later, he feels fingertips glance over his back, and he struggles not to shudder under the touch. Brian's grip eases again, and then goes back to a solid pinch, this time tugging Sean's nipple forward, stretching it. Edward's fingers continue their ghosting exploration of Sean's shoulders. "Look at all this skin. And not a mark showing on it. If he liked bruises, he'd have more of them."

"Maybe he hasn't been bad enough to earn bruises yet," Brian murmurs. "Or good enough. Is pain a punishment or a reward here, boy?"

Sean's breath stutters out of him as he tries to gather enough thought to answer. "Pain is random here, Sir," Sean whispers.

"Would you enjoy being hurt enough that you'd bruise?" Brian asks.

Sean doesn't know much, but he knows enough not to trust that that's an offer. He suspects it's merely a question meant to gauge his interest, and answers it as such. "I would enjoy that, yes, Sir."

"Good. I'd enjoy putting bruises on you, so we'd be in agreement on that. I'll have to beg my Master's permission to mark you. Does that sit all right with you, boy?"

Confused, Sean looks up. He doesn't meet Brian's gaze, but he does take in his expression, which is muted, carefully neutral. Sean lets his own confusion show, and answers, "Yes, Sir. I don't understand why it wouldn't."

"Novice," Edward reminds Brian. "Assume nothing."

"Yes, Sir," Brian agrees. He leans in and presses his lips to Sean's shoulder, then bites down again.

Sean jerks, hisses, and can't hold back the word: " _Please._ "

Edward's hands move to Sean's arms, and he yanks at them, drawing Sean's wrists behind his back and holding tight. "Good boy," he murmurs. "That's very pretty."

"I'd like it better if he weren't struggling so hard not to beg," Brian says. He slides off the couch and bends his head down, putting his lips around Sean's nipple. Sean goes still under Brian's lips and Edward's hands, and he lets out a soft moan.

"That's getting somewhere," Edward says. He presses his lips to the back of Sean's neck, just below the collar, and Sean has to hold his breath to keep from panting. "You waiting for something, boy?"

"Nn -- no," Sean whispers. "I'm sorry, Sir. Please..." His voice trails off, and he swallows hard. "Please don't stop."

Brian takes his lips away from Sean's nipple long enough to murmur, "Good boy," and then his lips come down again, his teeth bite hard, and Sean gasps and arches and strains, unable to help fighting but not for a moment wanting to get away.

"Good boy," Edward echoes, still licking a path across the back of Sean's neck. "Give me some words, boy. Tell me what you think of what Brian's doing to you."

"I -- oh -- God, Sir, please," Sean pants. "I... I like it..."

Edward chuckles, and Brian's lips trail a path across Sean's chest to his other nipple. He brings his thumb up, pressing down in rough, heavy circles, and sucks hard. "Just like it, and that's all?" Edward asks. "How does it make you feel, boy?"

"Scared," Sean moans. He winces, squeezes his eyes shut tight. He doesn't even know where the word came from, doesn't know if it's at all accurate, but it was the first thing to come to mind, and now he can't take it back.

"Oh, that's interesting. Do you like being scared?" Edward asks.

"I... yes, Sir, please, I do like it, very much," Sean breathes.

"Brian, let the boy go," Edward murmurs. "I want to get him off before we go much further. Take the edge off his arousal so he won't be quite so all over the place."

Brian pulls back, nodding. "As you please, Sir." Sean blinks his eyes open at the phrase; it _is_ a bit strange having someone topping him who's clearly a submissive himself. It's a sudden, sharp reminder of Sean's place here. Still learning. Lower than everyone else. He's a _boy_ even to other slaves.

Edward runs a hand down Sean's chest and slides it between his legs, resting it on his cock for a moment. "This is nice," he murmurs. His other arm comes up around Sean's chest, settling Sean back so the length of his back is pressed to Edward's front and Edward's chin is over Sean's shoulder. Edward kneads Sean's cock, not gentle at all, rough enough to make Sean squirm under his hand. "Does that hurt, boy?" Edward murmurs.

"It's... uncomfortable, Sir," Sean answers.

"Let's see if we can get you more uncomfortable, then, and make you come from that." Edward gives a quick nod to Brian. "Get his cock out for me."

Brian leans forward and unbuttons the top of Sean's pants, unzips his fly. He pulls Sean's cock out and squeezes it hard, and doesn't let up when Sean hisses in a breath. Sean's hands fly up to Edward's arms, clutching at him, and he tries to wriggle away from Brian's punishing touch. "No, please," Sean whispers, "please, hurts, please don't..."

"Now, boy, that's not the way this works and you know it," Edward murmurs. The tone of his voice is not unkind. "You don't beg to get away. You beg because you have to. Because you can't stand it any longer. You beg because it pleases us to hear you begging, and you want to please us."

"Yes -- God -- Sir, all of that is true," Sean pants, "and it hurts, and God, _God_ , I'm going to come, please don't make me come without permission, Sir..."

"You have permission."

Sean's head snaps up and cranes around so he can see the doorway. Pierce and Theo make their way into the room, and Pierce settles down in his armchair. Neither man looks particularly happy. Theo takes a seat on the couch near Brian, close enough that he can reach out and put a hand on Brian's shoulder, squeezing gently before sitting back. "Master, please," Sean whispers, and he knows it won't mean a damned thing to Pierce, but the words won't hold themselves back. "Please, I'm scared, and I don't know what I'm doing..."

"You're disappointing me," Pierce observes, sneering a little. "Stop sniveling and do whatever it is that's being asked of you."

Sean sucks in a breath and leaves his eyes on Pierce. They go a bit cold, and they lose focus as Brian begins sliding his hand up and down the length of Sean's cock with cruel, rough determination. "Please," Sean whispers; this time the word comes out differently, a plea for the sake of begging, not a plea to end things.

"That's better," Edward says. "Come now."

And Sean does, shocked and wide-eyed, astonished by his body's response to the words. It took no thought, no concentration, nothing but the words, and Sean would have said a moment before he actually came that he wasn't even close. His vision greys out, even though his eyes are open, and he can't see Pierce's expression. He's glad for that. If this scene so far has shown him anything, it's that he can't rely on Pierce for support.

Brian gives Sean's cock a few more agonizing strokes before bringing his hand up near Sean's face. "Would you like to clean my hand off, boy?" he asks.

"Yes... please... Sir," Sean pants.

"Go on, then."

Sean strains against the grip Edward still has on him, leaning forward for Brian's hand and having to stretch his neck out as far as he can, his tongue out as far it will reach, in order to take the smallest drop from Brian's skin. "Please," he murmurs.

Brian smiles a bit and brings his hand closer. "God, but you are beautiful. A bit skittish, but that's to be expected. Go on, then. Taste yourself."

Sean moans, rather happily, and begins taking the come from Brian's fingers in long, contented licks, swirling his tongue over Brian's skin and then sucking Brian's fingers into his mouth. Brian's breathing picks up, and he grunts quietly as Sean licks and sucks at his hand. "Christ," he murmurs. "Do you like sucking cock, boy?"

Sean moans again, sucking hard; he hopes it comes across as the eager, enthusiastic response he intends.

"I'm going to hurt you. Very soon, I think. And if I like the way you take pain, I'll let you swallow my cock down your throat, and let you choke on my come."

If it were possible to get hard again so quickly, Sean would; he gives another hard suck and then glances up at Brian, nodding slightly.

"Good boy." Brian pulls his hand back and dries his fingers off in Sean's hair. He looks up at Edward. "I'm ready," he murmurs.

"Aren't we all," Edward grins. "Ask your master for permission, then."

Brian nods and turns around, kneeling at Theo's feet. "Master, this boy asks permission to hurt Pierce's new boy."

"This boy's granted permission." Theo runs affectionate fingers through Brian's hair, and Sean stiffens slightly against Edward. Edward tightens his grip on Sean's chest, forcing Sean back again; Sean closes his eyes and lets his breath out in a soft rush. "Pierce, do you want to see him cuffed for this, or is he good enough at restraining himself?"

"I don't think he's earned cuffs yet," Pierce muses. "Have him bend over the coffee table; he deserves that much."

Edward finally releases Sean and shoves him lightly in the direction of the coffee table. "Strip off, boy, and then get your chest on the coffee table." He takes a seat on the short couch next to Theo.

Sean nods and pulls himself to his feet; he kicks off socks and shoes, and slides his pants over his hips. He blushes, but only through his cheeks, not quite down into his neck and throat. These men have seen him come, have seen him beg to lick his own come from a stranger's fingers; seeing him naked is certainly no more intimate than that. He leans over the coffee table, arse facing the fireplace so Brian will have room to work. His hands grip the sides of the table, and his cheek rests against the cold stone. This position keeps his face away from everyone; they're all to his side, watching Brian, and his expressions will be his own.

Brian heads briefly into Sean's line of sight to open up the duffel bag Edward was carrying earlier. He brings out an item Sean can't quite identify; it looks like a piece of leather attached to a wooden handle, much simpler than most of the tools Pierce has used on him. He tries to relax against the surface of the coffee table as Brian disappears behind him, but his breath is unsteady. He suspects, though, that no one's going to be surprised by that.

He feels the slide of leather down the center of his back, and flinches away from it at first; it's a new sensation, and cold, and the rigid leather is very different indeed from what he's gotten before. As the leather trails down over his lower back and comes to a halt on his arse, though, he swallows hard and lets his breath go.

"I want you to count for me," Brian murmurs. And he draws the leather back and brings it down _hard_ , the slap of it ringing out sharply in the room and drawing an immediate cry out of Sean.

 _Fuck._ Harder than he expected, harder by quite a bit, and the sting of it has tears in Sean's eyes. He pants a few times, desperately, trying to bring in enough air to call out a count. Pierce has taught him how to count respectfully; it's just a matter of getting out the words.

"You'll take five extra for every count you miss," Brian murmurs.

"I'm -- sorry, Sir," Sean whispers. "One, Sir, and this boy thanks you for it, Sir."

"Not bad," Brian nods. "You can do better." And a second stroke follows the first, marking the other half of Sean's arse, making Sean jump and cry out against the table again.

"Two, Sir, and this boy thanks you for it, Sir," Sean gets out, with almost no delay this time.

"Good," Brian approves. "You get a dozen. Remember what I said about losing the count." And so goes the third stroke, just as hard as the first two; this time, Sean doesn't jump, and the count is equally instant.

It's around the sixth stroke, when Sean realizes it's half over, that the pain starts turning into something beautiful. Sean gasps, and his hands tighten around the sides of the table; his eyes close, and he rocks back into the next stroke, still forcing himself to count. _Six, Sir, and this boy thanks you for it, Sir._ His voice is dwindling down to nothing, and at eight, he only gets out the first words of it: "Eight, Sir..."

Brian doesn't hesitate; he brings down the next stroke just as hard, in the same rhythm he'd already set up. "You missed a number, boy," he murmurs. And the ninth stroke comes down.

"Nine, Sir, and this boy thanks you for it, Sir," Sean spits out immediately; it was almost an automatic response to the criticism, and he nearly curses afterwards. After missing the eight stroke, he'd intended not to count the last four off. A dozen strokes is nothing; twenty-five on top of them would have gotten him hot and hard and screaming.

"Better," Brian says, and gives Sean the tenth stroke. Torn between the urge to be good and the urge to try to get what he wants, Sean hesitates, and he hesitates too long. Brian isn't letting up the rhythm anymore, isn't going to give Sean another hint. The eleventh stroke lands harder than the rest.

Sean's hands tighten on the edge of the table, and he closes his eyes. This time it's a choice. He doesn't speak.

The twelfth blow is the hardest of all of them, and Sean remains silent for it, not even letting out a grunt. "Stubborn boy," Edward murmurs from the couch.

"Not at all," Brian breathes. He puts a hand on Sean's shoulder and drags it all the way down to the base of his spine, then draws it over Sean's arse and gives him a loud, hard smack with the flat of his hand. Sean jumps, but doesn't make any sound. Brian laughs. "He's not stubborn. He's devious. You want more, don't you, boy?"

Sean's eyes close, and he exhales. "Yes, Sir," he whispers.

"You stopped counting because you wanted more."

"Yes, Sir."

Brian gives Sean another smack across the reddening skin of his arse. "How many did you miss, boy?"

"Four, Sir," Sean answers evenly.

"You wanted another twenty strokes?"

"No, Sir," Sean murmurs.

"No?" Brian gives Sean another smack, and Sean shudders under his hand. "What did you want?"

"Another twenty-five, Sir," Sean whispers.

This gets a laugh from Edward; everyone else remains silent. "Do you deserve another twenty-five, boy?" Brian asks.

"I don't know, Sir."

"Then why should I give them to you?"

Sean draws in a breath. "Because you haven't heard me scream, Sir."

Dead silence meets his answer, and Sean has the definite feeling he's said the wrong thing. He tries to stay still, but his arms and hands are trembling. He grips the table harder, trying to cover for the shuddering motions of his body, and waits it out.

It's Pierce who finally speaks. "Give him the twenty he's earned," he says quietly. "Any way it pleases you, lad."

Sean jerks hard at hearing those words. That last in particular. _Lad_. That's his title, his endearment -- if there's such a thing as an endearment here -- and the other man's gotten it for nothing. He doesn't belong to Pierce, isn't taking pain for Pierce, and it wasn't _boy_ , it wasn't _Brian_ , it was _lad_.

 _You fucking bastard_, Sean thinks, and doesn't know who he means by it.

"No counting this time," Brian says. Sean feels his hand lift off his lower back and hears Brian move back into position so he can start up the beating again. Sean should know better than to go rigid, but he's confused and angry. His fingers are digging into the edge of the table so hard that he can feel the stone cutting into his flesh, and his bones ache. "Come on, boy, you wanted these so badly; let's see what you can take."

And it starts up, faster and harder than before. With no need for a count, the rhythm is as fast as Brian's arm allows, and the strikes come one after another, biting into Sean's flesh and making him spit out breath. But so far, it's only breath; Sean doesn't let out any words, doesn't let out any sounds besides explosive exhales.

"Let it go," Brian murmurs. "What are you proving here, boy?" And the next stroke comes down particularly hard over a patch of skin that was already hurting badly; Sean bites down hard on his lower lip and lets out a grunt, unable to stop himself. Brian stops as soon as the sound comes out, and he runs his hand over Sean's arse, breathing heavily as Sean jerks under his fingers.

"Better," Pierce says quietly. "How many have you taken, lad?"

"Ten," Sean whispers.

"Are you halfway to where you wanted to get with your disobedience?" Pierce asks.

"I don't know, Master."

"Then why should I let him continue?"

Sean pushes himself up on his forearms and drops his forehead to the table. "Because I earned these strokes through my disobedience, Master," Sean whispers, "and easing off would teach me that the punishments for my disobedience will not necessarily be carried out."

"You little bastard--" Brian begins, but there's no heat in his words.

Theo interrupts. "Boy. Let him speak as he pleases. We're guests here."

Brian lets out a soft sniff, something that sounds terribly amused, and Sean shakes his head; he had nothing left to say.

"This is a dangerous game you're playing, lad," Pierce murmurs. "You aren't leading here. You need to remember that." He pauses. "Ten so far, is it?"

"Yes, Master."

"All right. Brian, give him the rest."

Sean smiles slightly, hidden in the safety of his arms and the surface of the table. When Brian starts up again, the smile disappears quickly; after six more strokes, Sean is struggling not to grunt with each impact of leather against flesh. At seventeen, Sean lets out a loud, sharp hiss, and at eighteen gives up the fight to stay silent: he cries out, not loud, just enough to be heard, and then cries out again with each of the last two strokes.

It ends, then, and Sean can only hear his quiet breathing in the room. For a while there's silence, and then Sean can hear someone coming up off the couch, a belt being unbuckled, a zipper coming open. He turns his head to the side; no one's said he couldn't look where he pleases.

Over by his side, Edward has taken to his feet, and he's holding the slapper Brian was using on Sean. Theo's pants are open, now, and his cock is out; Brian is on his knees, between Theo's legs, and as Sean watches, Theo puts a heavy hand on the back of Brian's neck and guides Brian's mouth down over his cock.

Sean can't quite turn his head far enough to see what Pierce is doing. Observing, probably; Sean can't imagine that Pierce would be pulling himself off to this scene. Edward gives the slapper a pair of experimental strokes through the air and then crouches down at Sean's side. He digs fingers into Sean's hair and wrenches his head back. Sean hisses and doesn't fight the motion.

"You were willing to misbehave to get twenty," Edward murmurs. "Be careful what you wish for, boy."

Sean's eyebrows draw together, but then Edward is walking around behind him, and Sean barely has time to brace himself before the first stroke falls across his skin.

The momentary rest between sets should have been helpful, Sean thinks, should have given him time to recover slightly. It wasn't helpful at all; every stroke now feels as if it's being laid on a canvas that's already too bruised and injured to take more. Sean jolts, cries out quietly, and before Edward's given him four strokes, he's biting down on his lower lip and grunting, trying to keep from shouting.

Sean can hear whispered words of encouragement from Theo on the couch. "Good boy. Pretty boy. You look so good that way. So pretty. Just keep going, just like that. Come on, boy. That's it. That's it."

The words are for Brian, but it doesn't matter. Sean can imagine those words coming from Pierce, almost. _Good lad. Pretty lad. That's it..._ Almost, but not quite. He's never gotten that sort of encouragement from Pierce.

 _Either you can do a thing or you can't. You don't need me holding your hand through it._ Oh, but Christ, he'd like Pierce's hand sometimes, and he can't say that, couldn't possibly. Pierce would only laugh at him.

 _Damn you._ Sean sucks in a breath as the next strokes come down, and goes quiet, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes.

It doesn't break Edward's rhythm, though he does notice the way Sean's stopped crying out. When he's done, he pulls back and straightens his back, drawing impatient fingers through his hair.

"Theo," Pierce murmurs. He nods to the slapper Edward's still holding. Theo pushes Brian away, gently, and tucks his cock away. He takes up the slapper, giving Edward a friendly slap on the shoulder as they exchange places. Edward opens up his own pants, and draws Brian forward to take advantage of his mouth while Theo is busy with Sean.

"Please," Sean whispers. He doesn't even know if Theo can hear him; he can't think about the volume of his voice right now.

Theo does hear, though, and slides his hand up from Sean's lower back to his hair, tangling his fingers in the mussed strands. "What is it?" he murmurs. "What are you asking for?"

Sean shakes his head. He doesn't _know_. Goddamnit, he doesn't _know_ what he's asking for. "Please," he whispers again.

He feels Theo settle down on the corner of the coffee table. It's a slightly awkward angle, but Theo can keep his fingers twisted in Sean's hair while he begins marking Sean's arse with the slapper. Sean chokes out soft, sobbing breaths with every stroke, and Theo tightens his grip on Sean's hair as he goes, finally tugging sharply in counterpoint to the strokes he's landing on Sean's arse.

Still, the only noises he's drawing out of Sean are those sharp breaths, and when Theo comes to the end of his twenty strokes, he looks over at Pierce. "And yours?" he asks quietly.

"He doesn't get mine," Pierce murmurs. "Take him, if you care to."

 _He doesn't get mine._ Sean bites down hard on his lower lip. _I fucking hate you. Master._ He tries to catch his breath. He doesn't know how he's lost it, where it's gone, but the rhythm of his breath is uneven, ragged. Ugly. _You don't fucking deserve his,_ he thinks to himself.

"I'd care to," Theo murmurs. Sean can hear him digging into a pocket for a condom; Sean's prepped, of course, not that it matters. Part of him wishes he weren't; he'd like this fuck to hurt as much as it can, and whatever Theo gives him, it isn't going to be enough.

Sean feels Theo's hands gliding down his sides, and he jerks forward against the table when he feels Theo's hands dig into his arse, thumbs pulling his cheeks apart to expose him more completely. It hurts, God, hurts badly, and he uncurls both hands, putting his palms flat on the table. "Please," he grits out.

"Please what, boy?" Theo asks.

"Please fuck me, Sir," Sean says, and remembering his manners, saying _Please_ and _Sir_ instead of just growling _Fuck me_ is an effort and a half.

"Yes," Theo murmurs, and then he lines up and shoves in, one smooth thrust taking him in deep. Sean lets out a long breath, and the rhythm of his air steadies.

 _Yes_. This is what Sean wanted, and he can lie here and take this and _want_ this without conflict or worry. All the thoughts that were racing in his head are gone now -- to be sorted through later, he supposes, but that doesn't matter anymore. What Pierce says doesn't matter. Sean's being taken, hurt, _marked_. He lowers himself to the table again, going slightly boneless as Theo fucks him. It's hard enough to pound Sean against the table, and it doesn't seem to matter. Sean feels above everything that's happening to him, serene somehow, unaffected except for the mingling of pain and pleasure. This is _right_. This is what he needs.

Theo's fingers dig into Sean's arse as he keeps moving. The pain is good, good enough to send Sean into soft moans of pleasure. He curls his fingers around the edges of the table and simply _breathes_.

It could be seconds or minutes; Sean has no idea, and doesn't care. All he knows is that Theo takes him, and takes him, and keeps taking him until the clenching of his hands becomes almost desperate, and then he lunges forward, hips slamming against Sean's arse, and comes, letting out a sharp breath between his teeth.

"This boy--" It takes a moment for Sean's voice to come back into working order, and he licks his lips and breathes out softly. "This boy thanks Sir for his attention," he murmurs.

"This boy's pleased Sir." Theo gives Sean's hair a soft ruffle. "This boy's got a ways to go before he's finished. Edward, do you want him next?"

Sean grunts lightly as Theo pulls away from him; he feels cool air against his thighs and then a light hand stroking up and down the side of his leg. "I do want him next," Edward murmurs. "But I want your boy's tongue in my ass while I take him."

Theo chuckles. "You're so predictable. Go on, boy."

Sean tries to turn his neck so he can see the order of things; he's never even thought about having someone rimming him while he's fucking someone else. _Of course, at the rate I'm going here, it's going to be a goddamned long time before I fuck anyone... but even so..._ Sean shakes his head and settles back into position. There's almost no warning before Edward slides into him, a slide that's so long and solid it feels like it just keeps going until Sean's full to his throat. Sean purrs softly, and the purr is only choked off when Edward covers Sean's body with his own, the scratchy wool of his jumper far too warm against Sean's skin.

"This boy apologizes," Sean whispers.

"No, he doesn't," Edward growls into Sean's ear. "You don't apologize unless I say you do, and if you're apologizing you'd better have fucking earned the right to do it. What the fuck are you apologizing for, boy?"

"I--" Sean closes his eyes hard; Edward feels very fucking good inside him, and Sean doesn't want him to stop moving. But fuck, this gets worse and worse; Sean said _I_ , letting formal voice -- what little he knows of it -- fall by the wayside entirely. "This boy apologizes for allowing his sweat on Sir's clothes."

Edward chuckles and ruffles Sean's hair, a much harder, rougher motion than Theo gave him. He pins Sean's cheek to the coffee table, then, pressing down hard and twisting his fingers up in Sean's hair, making Sean wince. The wince is more for the way Sean feels _exposed_ \-- Edward's face is so close to his own, and he can only hide half his expression now. Fuck.

Edward pauses in his thrusts for a moment, and then lets out a satisfied groan and a light laugh. "Ah, God, that's good. _Good_ boy." He begins moving, then, agonizingly slow, long thrusts that have Sean shivering and shaking underneath him. "Oh, fucking good boys," he groans. "Get your hands up on my hips, boy, and try to fucking keep up." And his strokes suddenly come in faster, harder, the change in rhythm somehow shocking. Sean moans and struggles up against Edward's grip in his hair, but he goes nowhere, and he realizes after a moment that his struggles are making Edward's breath come faster.

 _Yes. Oh, fuck, yes._ And he begins struggling in earnest, trying to push his hands up underneath him.

"Slut," Edward murmurs, bringing his other hand up to pin Sean's upper arm to the table. "You've been begging for it all this time. What makes you think you're going anywhere?"

"Please," Sean gasps, "hurts," and that much is certainly true. And although he doesn't want it to end, he lets out the rest of it anyway: "please stop."

"Fucking slut. Fucking whore." Edward jerks back suddenly, and Sean hears the snap of rubber followed by a warm splash of come across his lower back. Sean cries out sharply at the feel of that and goes limp against the table, gasping.

"All right, boy. All yours." Sean hears Edward pulling his clothes back into order and then the soft sound of him taking a seat next to Theo. And then it's Brian's fingers dragging trails through Edward's come, rubbing it into Sean's skin.

"You take pain so well," Brian murmurs. "Almost too well, boy. I wanted to see you break. Thought a novice like you might break in an afternoon." He lowers his mouth to Sean's arse and bites down hard on a particularly red spot. Sean simply presses himself harder to the table and growls in approval; Brian brings his hand down hard on the other side of Sean's arse and then rears up and draws away. "You like this, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir," Sean growls. The words aren't coming out properly at all; the tone of them is a naked glimpse of his feelings. Need, anger, frustration, contentment, something so close to happiness he can almost taste it.

"Like being used and fucked like you don't mean a fucking thing to us?"

"Yes, Sir." The silence in the rest of the room seems overwhelming suddenly. Sean cranes his head around to look for Pierce.

Brian grabs at his head and slams him back onto the table. "Don't fucking move, slave."

Sean gasps and squeezes his eyes shut. No. Not moving.

Brian slides into Sean with ease and a painful burn that reminds Sean that he's already been fucked twice, taken hard, in rapid succession. He holds his breath as Brian starts fucking him, and at first there are only the sounds of skin slapping against skin and Brian's rough, growling breaths. Sean's own breathing is silent, inaudible even to himself. He stays loose against the table.

"Make noise," Brian murmurs. "Let it out. How does it feel, boy?"

"Good," Sean chokes, " _please_ ," and then he can't help the sounds he makes -- they've been asked for, ordered, and he has to give them the same way he has to breathe, the same way his heart has to pound in his chest. The noises start out soft and short, one after another in time with his breathing, but as Brian keeps fucking him, Sean can feel the urge to let out more than those short, simple cries. He turns his face so he's breathing into the stone of the table, and his hands curl into fists.

"There. How much do you hate this?" Brian whispers. The pace doesn't let up for an instant.

"Fuck you," Sean whispers; it's a mistake, but Christ, he's so goddamned confused, wants this so much, hates all four of them, just wants it to be over, wants to go _home_. It's the first time he's wanted that since he got here, and the feeling twists hard in his chest and gets the tears flowing. They've wanted to come since Edward started beating him; it took that aching, empty feeling of fury to bring them out.

And the unexpected happens again: "Good boy," Brian breathes, and he reaches around to grip Sean's cock in his hand, tugging at Sean's hips to give himself enough room to do it.

"No," Sean pants, "please, no..." He's been disobedient, he's cursed at the man who started this scene for him; the last thing he deserves is to come.

Brian doesn't care, and the strokes of his hand are merciless. "Come, slave," he growls. "Enough of you deciding how your punishments are going to work. Fucking come for me. _Now._ "

Sean has no choice, and as he screams out his orgasm, realizes he never did. For all that it looked, for a moment, like he had a shred of control here, he had nothing of the kind. He feels his come spilling over Brian's hand, feels the white threads of it slicking the surface of his cock as Brian keeps stroking him.

"Go on," Theo murmurs, and Brian follows Sean over the edge, coming hard, squeezing Sean's cock hard enough to make Sean scream again before collapsing on his back. Sean struggles, claws at the table trying to move away -- the weight of Brian's body against his arse is unbearable, and Brian's hand is still tight on his cock.

After a moment, though, Brian pulls away from him entirely, and Sean clutches at the table, panting, trying to hold tears back. He hears the soft sounds of shoes on the carpet. Farewells, and the soft sounds of hands slapping shoulders in warm embraces. The sound of the door opening and closing.

"Do you enjoy being a spectacle, lad?" Pierce murmurs from the doorway. "Enjoy an audience?"

Sean can't draw together enough thought to speak. He shakes his head.

"Didn't like this?"

Another shake of Sean's head. Pierce comes over and sits down on one corner of the table, running soft fingers through Sean's hair.

"Theo offered for you."

Sean shudders out a breath and squeezes his eyes shut. "What do you mean, Master?" he rasps.

"He'd have traded me Brian for you."

Sean's shoulders shake. "You say that as if you told him no, Master," Sean mumbles.

"I did."

"May I ask why, Master?"

"Because you don't deserve better than me," Pierce says, fingers tightening in Sean's hair. "And you don't deserve someone you like better than you like me." He pauses, and his voice has a very ugly cast to it when he continues. "Do you think you deserve that, lad?"

"I didn't like him better than I like you, Master," Sean whispers.

"You're not answering my question."

Sean swallows. "No, Master, I don't believe I deserve that."

"Good. You're a fucking failure as a boy, and you're probably never going to get better. I still hold out hope, but not much of it, not after that performance. No, you _don't_ deserve to go somewhere better. Somewhere you'd be treated lightly, pampered. You don't deserve that."

"I don't want it, Master."

"You don't, do you?" Pierce slides off the table and leans down close to Sean's ear, so his breath is whispering against Sean's skin. "Someday I'll make you tell me why."

Sean shivers. Someday Pierce will tear that out of him, and someday Pierce will tell him why _he_ thinks Sean doesn't deserve a better master. He feels ill just thinking about it.

Pierce's fingertips trace a path down the length of Sean's spine. "Enough for now. The rest of the day's yours. Head upstairs when you're able."

"Yes, Master," Sean whispers.

Pierce leaves him behind, then, and Sean stays on the table for quite some time before gathering up his clothes and going upstairs.


	8. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the houseguests leave, Pierce has a few tough questions for Sean.

It's late at night. Not Sean's best hour, not that Pierce doesn't know that, yet here he is anyway, standing at Sean's doorway. "Lad?"

"Master?" Sean mumbles. He leans up so he can see Pierce, but he doesn't go anywhere. Until he figures out Pierce's intentions, he's staying on his back.

"How far can you go for me?" Pierce asks quietly. "What am I going to get from you? If there are more afternoons such as this one, what are you going to feel?"

"I don't know," Sean murmurs.

"I don't want to hear _I don't know_ out of you anymore," Pierce snaps, the quiet tone gone instantly. "I want to know what you were feeling."

Sean does slide out of bed then, going to his knees in front of Pierce. "Name an emotion, Master, and I felt it. I was everywhere this afternoon."

"You're of no use to me when you're everywhere," Pierce says. "I need order from you. Presence. I need you to prove to me that you can take what I force on you, and that you can take it without fear or flinching or losing your ability to focus." Pierce runs fingers through Sean's hair and sighs lightly. "Can you do that for me, lad?"

"Yes," Sean whispers. It's not just an order -- it's a _purpose_. He puts his eyes on Pierce, keeping himself from flinching.

"I want you," Pierce says quietly. "More than I should. More than I'm accustomed to doing."

"Master, please. I want to be here more than I can express. I want to be yours."

"I mislike your sincerity," Pierce murmurs. "It's not what I want. And it makes you bloody irresistible, and you know it, don't you, lad?"

Sean's chest hurts. "Please, Master, this boy apologizes for his failing."

"You can't apologize for your sincerity," Pierce counters. "You wouldn't mean it. Could you lie to me? Even if you wanted to?" His fingers tighten in Sean's hair. "Even if I ordered you to?"

Sean hesitates, remembering the new order: _don't say "I don't know"._ "Probably not, Master," he whispers.

"No. I would imagine not." Pierce gives Sean a rough shove away and crosses his arms over his chest. "Get your forehead on the floor."

Sean lowers himself to the ground immediately, eyes closing. "May this boy serve you, Master?"

"What can you offer me?" Pierce asks. "What are you here for?"

 _Haven't we just done this?_ Sean takes a deep breath. "This boy is here to serve you, for whatever you ask of him, Master."

"No." Pierce nudges him with a foot. "What are you here for?"

 _I don't understand. Christ, I hate not having a blasted clue what he wants._ "This boy is here for your pleasure, Master."

" _No_ ," Pierce repeats. He crouches down beside Sean and grabs his hair, hard, at the back of his neck. "Not good enough, lad." He wrenches Sean's head back until Sean is fully facing the ceiling, and draws fingertips down the front of Sean's neck.

Sean jerks under Pierce's fingertips, gasping in air as best he can. "Please," he whispers. "God, please, Master..."

"What are you here for?" Pierce asks. "What are you here to _get_?"

"I don't know--" The words tumble out before Sean can stop them.

Pierce drops his lips to Sean's neck and bites down hard, just below Sean's collar at the center of his throat. Sean's hands come up to Pierce's shoulders, and he struggles, fighting against the sharpness of Pierce's teeth and the pressure on his windpipe. A terrifying wave of arousal crashes over him, and his hands dig into Pierce's arms as he fights.

"Please, Master, not this way..."

"Why not this way?" Pierce asks. "What way is this, lad? What are you feeling?"

"Scared -- hurting -- please, Master, stop hurting me." Sean doesn't mean the physical sensation of Pierce's lips and teeth on his skin.

"What would you prefer, lad? Would you like this to be easy? Just one more thing in your life that you can manage without fear or shame?" Pierce tugs harder, knocking Sean off-balance. Sean falls to his back on the floor, and Pierce follows him down, sliding a hand down Sean's chest and letting his fingers tangle in the curls at the base of Sean's cock. "What are you here for? _Tell me._ "

"Here to be hurt," Sean whispers. His eyes are beginning to fill with tears, and he doesn't know why or how to stop it.

"Then why are you begging me to stop hurting you?" Pierce asks. He grips the base of Sean's cock and tugs upwards, beginning a sharp, brutal rhythm that doesn't come near the sensitive spot under the head. Another tease.

"Because I don't want it to happen this way." Sean shivers, nearly convulses under Pierce's grip. "Master, please -- begging you -- _stop_."

"Do you think it works that way?" Pierce asks. "Do you think you tell me to stop and it happens so easily?" He lowers his head to the skin above Sean's nipple, biting gently. "Have you earned the privilege of having me stop?"

"No, Master, no, I have not," Sean gasps out. He gets his elbows underneath him and pushes up so he's half-sitting, and he lets his head drop back so his neck is arched uncomfortably. He's putting himself on display, though he wouldn't be able to name his reasons for it were Pierce to ask him.

"You know you haven't earned it, but you beg for it all the same. Do you think pleading will change my mind about _anything_ I want to do to you, lad?" Pierce's rough strokes on Sean's cock don't stop or slow down, and between words, phrases, sentences, Pierce keeps biting Sean's chest, progressively harder bites until his teeth are gripping Sean's nipple, threatening and teasing all at once.

Sean groans, and one hand comes up to cup the back of Pierce's head. "Master, please don't stop," he whispers. "Please hurt me."

"Can't decide, can you?" Pierce asks. He licks gently at Sean's nipple, the flat of his tongue caressing and teasing. "You beg me to stop. You beg me to go on. What are you learning, lad, right at this moment?"

"That I need this," Sean breathes. "Even when I hate it. Even when I don't think I can stand it."

Pierce's hand draws up the length of Sean's cock, finally gripping just under the head, and his teeth clamp down hard enough to make Sean scream. Sean jerks against him, crying out and breathing heavily, and Pierce opens his teeth, giving Sean a moment's pause. "Good lad," he whispers. "Come when you can." And his teeth close again, just as hard as the last time.

Sean screams again, and this time the scream takes more than his breath from him; the orgasm seems to start with his scream, with the violence of the way his response is being drawn from him. He jerks under Pierce's teeth and his hand, and his come falls in white streaks over his lower belly and Pierce's hand. Pierce lets Sean's nipple go as soon as he feels the come falling over his fingers, but keeps up the rough, quick stroke until Sean is clenching his teeth and trying not to groan.

"Do you want to beg me to stop now?" Pierce whispers.

"No, Master," Sean grits out.

"I'm hurting you," Pierce says. "You're nearly sweating from it. You're shaking. You were ready to beg me to stop because I was hurting you with my words, but you don't want me to stop this?" His grip tightens, and Sean emits a strangled growl. "What have you learned, lad?"

"That I love it when you hurt me," Sean grunts, words forced out during harsh, panting exhales.

Pierce stops abruptly. He wipes his hand off on Sean's stomach, then lets out a long exhale of his own. "I want you to stay on the floor until your come has dried," he says. "Then you can climb back in bed, if you wish it."

"Yes, Master," Sean pants. "Thank you, Master."

Pierce stands up, and doesn't look back as he leaves the room. Sean lowers himself to the floor and throws an arm over his eyes, trying not to let himself shake too badly.


	9. Approval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean earns something good from Pierce. Sort of.

It's rare for Pierce to be awake before Sean is. This morning Sean wakes up to the feel of Pierce's fingertips gliding over his cheek. He can't help smiling; he's still half-asleep, and the touch feels good.

"I'm going to hurt you today," Pierce murmurs.

Sean's eyes aren't open yet, but he turns his face into Pierce's fingertips and sucks the nearest one into his mouth. Pierce lets him lick and suck at the fingertip before pulling his hand back and sliding his fingertips over Sean's neck, down his shoulder, letting his hand come to rest there.

"I know how much my lad likes pain," Pierce says quietly. "Today I'm giving you something new."

"Yes, Master, please," Sean mumbles. He can't quite focus on what Pierce is saying, but a promise of pain is always a good thing. "Your boy begs you to hurt him, Master."

"Good boy. Get yourself up, shower off, and go downstairs to my bedroom. I want you standing but bent over, with your forearms on the bed and your legs together."

"Yes, Master." Sean finally manages to get his eyes open. He squints up at Pierce; he can't figure out his expression at all. "May your boy ask how you plan to hurt him, Master?"

"I'm going to cane you," Pierce says. "I'm presuming you haven't taken a cane before."

"No, Master," Sean breathes. "Thank you, Master." He slides out from under Pierce's hand and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, taking only a moment to make sure he's not too lightheaded to stand.

Sean handles his morning routine in record time, trying not to allow himself to become too nervous about the caning. He knows what the canes are, and knows how badly they'll hurt him. He doesn't think this is meant to be a punishment, but can't imagine Pierce means it to be a reward.

 _I wonder if he thinks I can manage this. Or if he's giving it to me because he thinks I can't._ Either explanation seems plausible. Sean wishes Pierce's motivations were a little clearer. He can never tell whether Pierce is proud of him and pleased by him, or if he's disappointed and looking for ways to force Sean to fail. Even failing means something to Sean; it means he gave Pierce his best attempt, and more often than not he manages to get further than he expected. He doesn't know what his failures mean to Pierce.

Sean makes his way downstairs and stands at the side of the bed, forearms on the mattress. He rests his head on the bed, counting the time until Pierce comes to the room.

It takes three minutes and twenty-two seconds before Pierce's footsteps are audible, and then Sean holds his breath while Pierce runs a hand from the back of his neck to the base of his spine, over the curve of his buttocks, down his thighs. "Good," he murmurs. "Posture's adequate." He gives Sean a sharp slap on the arse, and Sean jumps, panting lightly. He's hard, not quite aching but certainly ready.

Or as ready as he's likely to get. He feels something rigid and cool across his back, being drawn down lightly across his skin. It's fairly thick, although he can't quite gauge its thickness -- more than the width of a finger, and the length is enough to cross the surface his back with something left over to each side. He can't tell what the material is. It's cool and feels relatively slick. Wood, probably.

"Give me a count, lad," Pierce says quietly.

"Yes, Master."

The cane is taken away from Sean's back, and Sean goes loose, knowing that bracing himself and tensing his muscles will only make this more devastating. It's difficult, though, not knowing when the blow will come. His breathing is erratic, and he does his best to get it into a rhythm.

The whistle of the cane through the air is audible just before the rod hits Sean's skin, and he does brace himself in that instant, going tense just before the blow strikes. It hurts, badly; more than he expected, more than anything in Pierce's house has hurt so far. He makes fists in the comforter and grunts sharply, forcing air out of his lungs and drawing it back in as fast as he can.

Pierce pauses, letting Sean adjust to the pain, and after three breaths Sean can get the words out. "That's one, Master, and this boy thanks you for it."

"Would you like another?" Pierce asks quietly.

"Yes, Master, please." Sean's arse throbs where the cane struck him, and electric sensations of fear and tension are running up and down his spine. For all that, he wants more, and wants it badly.

"Then ask for it."

"Master, please, may I have another?"

"Yes."

This time when Sean hears the cane's movement in the air, he doesn't tense for it. The pain is just as sharp as it was the first time, but there's something different about it. Perhaps it's a matter of being braced mentally and loose physically; Sean will think more about this later, when the arc of the pain isn't cutting across his skin and burning him, taking everything else in the room away.

In the middle of his second breath, he remembers the count. "That's two, Master, and this boy thanks you for it. Master, please, may I have another?"

"Are you enjoying this, lad?" Pierce asks.

 _Don't say I don't know._ "Yes, Master," Sean answers, though the real answer is much more complicated. The attention, the focus Pierce must have on him to bring pain this sharp bubbling to the surface, the beauty of the pain itself, and the way the rest of the world fades for him -- all these things combined together inspire feeling in him. It's more than simply enjoying it, though. The caning creates a need in him he didn't know existed, and then fills that need. There is simply no good way for him to express all that, not with Pierce standing behind him ready to continue. Better to experience it now and think about it after. "Please, Master, may I have another?"

Pierce doesn't answer in words. The next thing Sean hears is the cane moving through the air again, and the smack of it against his flesh. This last stripe falls lower, cutting across the top of his thighs where they meet his buttocks. Sean jumps -- can't help it -- and cries out, overwhelmed.

Pierce's hand slides up Sean's body, from his lower back all the way up his spine, fingers tangling into Sean's hair and tugging hard. "Tell me," he hisses.

"Master, please, that -- that's three, Master, and this boy thanks you for it, Master, and may I have another, please, Master?" Sean is desperate and incoherent, with only Pierce's hand in his hair and the sharp agony of the pain for focus.

"Greedy lad," Pierce says. He sounds vaguely disgusted, and Sean shudders, tugging his head down into the bed, trying to pull away from Pierce's fingers. "What's the matter, lad? Don't like the idea of wanting something that hurts so much?"

 _Don't say I don't know._ "No, Master," Sean whispers.

"Why not?"

 _I don't know._ "It's not... not how I'm supposed to be," Sean whispers.

"No," Pierce breathes. "No, it isn't." He leans down until his lips are against the back of Sean's neck. "But you're not here to have preferences, lad," Pierce hisses. "You are here to give me your reactions, and to take what I ask of you. How you are _supposed_ to be is up to me, and my whim of the moment. Do you understand?"

It's more than understanding. Sean can feel the truth of Pierce's words sinking into his skin, breaking him apart and remaking him in the image Pierce has for him. Sean stops struggling, and sinks into the bed, nodding lightly under Pierce's hand. "Yes, Master."

"If I want you to take another thirty, you can take them."

Sean feels a sharp jolt of fear, and shivers; he does not for a moment believe he could take another thirty. "Yes, Master," he whispers, voice very soft.

"Do you want another stripe, lad?"

Again, softly: "Yes, Master."

Pierce draws back, and Sean feels the cane glancing lightly over his back before Pierce pulls it away and gets himself into position for another stripe. Sean doesn't count seconds, doesn't grow tense. He is entirely attuned to Pierce and the anticipation of taking another stroke for him.

 _Master, please._

The next blow lands high, above the other stripes on Sean's arse. He can feel the burning rush of it across his skin, and presses his face hard into the mattress to stifle the sound he's making. It's a quiet sob, and several jagged exhales. He's crying from the pain, and something in his chest seems to loosen with the release.

"How many is that?" Pierce asks.

Sean lifts his face from the mattress. "That's four, Master, and this boy thanks you for it, Master. Please, Master, may I have another?" The words are unbroken, Sean's voice unbelievably even. He doesn't know what he's feeling, but he knows the pain is good, and having Pierce standing behind him is good.

 _I wish you'd touch me again._ Sean pushes the thought aside as quickly as he can, hoping Pierce will give him the next blow.

Pierce does, one that cuts across Sean's arse in a sharp diagonal line, crossing the other stripes. Sean jerks under it and shouts into the mattress, tears flowing even more freely. It takes several seconds for him to come back to himself enough to realize Pierce has asked something.

 _The count. Give him the count._ "That's five, Master, and this boy thanks you for it, Master," Sean whispers.

"Do you want another?" Pierce asks.

Sean hesitates, then shakes his head. "No, Master, please."

"Do you think it's up to you?"

Sean plants his face back in the mattress. "No," he whispers.

"Good lad."

And the next blows are sharp, hard, with only as much pause between them as it takes for Pierce to draw the cane back into position. Sean is still counting, though he knows he couldn't speak to give the count if Pierce asked him to. _Six. Seven. Christ. Fuck. Eight. Nine. Ten. Oh, God. Please stop. Please..._

At thirteen, Sean screams, a long hoarse scream that takes all the breath from his lungs and makes him collapse against the bed. He doesn't expect the blows to stop, even at that, but they do; he hears the clatter of the cane against the floor as Pierce tosses it aside, and then the sound of the nightstand drawer opening. Sean forces himself back up on his forearms; if Pierce wants to fuck him, Christ, he doesn't know how he'll stand it, but he'll have to. He has no choice, has had no choice about any of this, and he's so hard he could cut glass, even through his pain.

"Turn over," Pierce says; he sounds almost angry. "Get up on the bed. On your back."

Christ. Sean can barely move, and he knows how badly it's going to hurt when the stripes on his arse are pressed against the covers. He forces himself to stand up straight and then half-falls across the bed, turning over onto his back and crying out as he pulls himself into position.

"Hurts?" Pierce asks. He tosses a small tube of lubricant on the bed next to Sean. "Get it open."

 _Fuck._ Sean doesn't know if he can bend up far enough to prep himself. He snaps the lube open and slicks quite a bit over his first two fingers.

"No. For God's sake, lad. Wrong again. Just get it over your palm."

Confused, Sean smears lubricant over his palm and looks up at Pierce.

"Pull yourself off." Pierce is standing at the side of the bed, arms crossed over his chest.

"Yes, Master," Sean stammers. He drops his hand to his cock and begins fast, sharp strokes, the sound of lubricant and skin sliding against skin almost unpleasantly loud in the otherwise quiet room.

"Do you like that?" Pierce asks.

"Of course I like it, Master," Sean pants.

"Are you hurting for me?"

"Yes, Master." It's becoming difficult to get words out. "Please, Master--"

"What would you do if I wanted to take you now?" Pierce asks. "If I wanted you to spread your legs and pull your knees up for me, bending and stretching the skin I just striped?"

"Beg you for it," Sean groans, and he's so close he can taste release.

"And you'd watch the look on my face as I sank into you," Pierce murmurs, "and then I'd hurt you and fuck you until you were crying out for me, until those tears on your cheeks were new and falling one after the other for me..."

Sean grunts once, sharply. If Pierce keeps talking, he's not going to be able to hold back.

"Don't come," Pierce snaps. He pauses a few seconds while Sean's desperation bleeds off slightly, then murmurs, "and don't stop. I like the way your hand looks on your cock. I like the way you flush red when you're close. The way you bite down on your lower lip or clench your teeth when you can hardly hold back for me. The sounds you make..."

Sean can't stop it; the orgasm comes on him completely unbidden, and he gasps, eyes slamming shut in shock, teeth grinding hard together as if that will somehow make the release stop. "No -- oh, _fuck_ , no..."

Pierce leans forward, fingertips playing over Sean's throat, the light ghosting touch making Sean arch his neck and his back, crying out from the pleasure of the touch and the pain of his arse pressing down hard against the bed. Sean is still whispering out protests, though his teeth have come unclenched.

"How does this feel, lad? To come while protesting every bit of it?" Pierce leans down and presses a gentle kiss to Sean's forehead. Sean shivers and pants out another harsh sob, unable to form thoughts, let alone words.

Mercifully, Pierce stands and takes a step back, retrieving the cane from the floor. "Rest here on your back a while. I'll come back with something for the stripes in a few minutes," he says. At the doorway, he pauses. "You did well, lad."

Sean's eyes open, both going wide, head tilting up in an effort to seek out Pierce's expression. By the time he can focus, though, Pierce is gone.

Sean falls back into the pillows, grunting softly. _You did well, lad._ He presses the heel of his hand into the center of his chest and rubs hard. Too many emotions, too many different feelings, and all of them twisting him into knots. For the first time, Sean thinks he's getting what he came here for.


	10. Lavatory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean and Pierce go on a plane trip, and Pierce has a request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've seen this one already, although it's been tweaked a little to make it fit more firmly into the timeline here. This was a standalone bit I wrote for [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/dragonkal/profile)[**dragonkal**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/dragonkal/) a while back, who wanted to see "Evil!Sean/Pierce, bathroom or closet." This is an evil woman. Which, of course, is why I adore her past bearing. ;)

The collar around Sean's throat is uncomfortable, but he knows better than to tug at it. Pierce doesn't mind, not precisely, but Sean was strapped raw the first and only time he dug fingers under the collar.

 _Lesson forty-seven,_ Pierce said, _is that you're not here to be safe or comfortable. You're here because safe and comfortable weren't enough by half. Get used to the collar, lad; it isn't going anywhere, any more than you are._

It's only satin this time, fastened with a pair of hooks and eyes at the back of his neck, but it's so tight he feels as if he's constantly choking. He doesn't like it, but he responds to it anyway -- it's a mark of Pierce's ownership, and he can't help wanting that mark on him.

"I love New York in summer," Pierce murmurs. He's holding Sean's passport in his hand, and he walks up to the ticket agent, already flashing that James Bond grin. "Hello, lass..."

Sean's concentration falters. He looks around the airport, at the scant crowd so late at night. He wonders why Pierce booked a redeye flight from London to New York, unless it was specifically for the purpose of keeping Sean marginally protected from the crowds.

It's a damn shame he can't keep Sean protected from the airplane. Sean isn't looking forward to the flight to New York. He's looking forward to it even less because it means a flight home. He sighs and resettles the bag over his shoulder. He's not going to think about it. Not just yet.

"Lad?" Pierce digs a quick finger into Sean's front belt loop and tugs. "Let's go. Boarding in half an hour."

"Yes, Master," Sean murmurs. Low enough that, he hopes, the ticket agent won't hear him. Maybe she'll just think it's a joke. Actors doing strange things. It happens all the time. He can't meet her eyes as Pierce drags him away from the counter. He can't meet anyone's eyes. Not until Pierce says.

Security is easy, at least. Sean reaches up to unfasten the hooks and eyes of his collar, but Pierce raises an eyebrow at him, and it stops the movement in place. "I only thought -- the metal," he begins, but Pierce shakes his head, and that's the end of it.

"If you set off the metal detectors, you'll run through again." Pierce glides through the gate, only smiling slightly.

Sean sighs and goes through the metal detector. It doesn't protest the small amount of metal on his collar. He should probably be relieved -- the collar would only have to go back on -- but instead he glares up at the detector, as if the detector is an accessory to Pierce's plan for Sean's imminent breakdown.

Flying. Sean despises flying, and intercontinental flights are the worst. His usual method of getting through the damn things has been to take several strong sleeping pills and ask a steward to wake him up when the plane hits the ground. Not an option this time, because he'd fucking die before he asked Pierce to give him a concession that big. He can't even fathom what Pierce would want in return. He'd rather not know.

His hands are trembling as he sits at Pierce's side, waiting for the first boarding call. They'll be getting on the goddamned plane the moment they're permitted, of course; he can expect no less from Pierce.

Pierce doesn't notice the trembling of Sean's hands. Pierce doesn't notice a lot of things, though, and Sean is often torn between gratitude and resentment for that. When the first boarding call comes, Pierce stands, nodding at Sean to follow.

 _Fucking plane,_ Sean thinks. Pierce takes the window seat, for which Sean is mildly grateful; if there's anything worse than being crammed into a plane, it's being shoved up against the plane wall with nothing to do but look out the window at the 15,000 foot drop. Sean doubts Pierce did that for Sean's comfort; if anything, Pierce probably expected Sean to be less comfortable in the aisle. More on display.

Display. Sean sits up straight and puts his hands in his lap. God knows what Pierce is going to want during the course of this flight; Sean can only hope it isn't too humiliating.

* * * * *

Sean doesn't drink anymore; not unless Pierce orders him to. When Pierce orders him a glass of champagne, Sean takes it gratefully. It's been two hours; another five to go. Even a touch of alcohol is a welcome distraction from the flight.

When the steward comes back for the flute, though, Pierce puts his hand over Sean's. "Hang on to that, lad," he murmurs. "You'll have need of it n a moment."

Sean lifts an eyebrow, and Pierce leans in. "Lavatory," he says. "Go in and don't come out until that glass is _full_."

Sean can't breathe. The collar around his neck is cutting off his air, and he's hard anyway. "Please," Sean whispers, very faintly.

"It ought to take, what, three times?" Pierce shrugs. "You've done that in under an hour once. The circumstances were a bit unique, but..." Pierce takes in Sean's expression and lifts a hand to the back of Sean's neck. "Up to the line under the rim. And bring me the glass when you're done."

The line under the rim is down about half an inch. Sean might be able to manage this in two tries. Just two. It could take as little as half an hour.

Half an hour in an airplane lavatory. Sean closes his eyes. "Please," Sean whispers. "Anything else."

"I don't want 'anything else'," Pierce scoffs. "I want _this_. Go."

It's an order, and Sean can't say no to it. He swallows, with difficulty, and gets to his feet, carrying the glass.

Pierce doesn't even know. He doesn't know how much Sean hates flying. He doesn't know Sean's claustrophobic. He has no idea how hard it's going to be for Sean to close the door behind him, knowing he doesn't get to come out until those orders have been followed.

 _Damn it._

Sean walks into the lavatory and locks the door behind himself. For a few moments, he thinks he can hear his heart beating; the walls close in on him, and he can't breathe. He chokes, and then he tears at his collar, fingers digging under it to claw air into his lungs.

Nothing. Useless. Can't breathe.

Orders. Remember orders.

Remember the way it felt to walk into Pierce's house on his birthday, thinking it was going to be another fuck, easy, and he'd go home afterwards wondering why he'd bothered. Only Pierce had been in control the whole time, there was never any question who was going to top, and he'd pushed Sean to his knees and gone in so hard it _hurt_...

...remembering how hard Sean had come, because Pierce's hand on his cock was steady and his grip got tighter every moment until Sean was grinding his teeth together so he wouldn't say anything that would make Pierce stop...

...all right. All right, he can manage this. It was an order, and he knows what he has to do to get out.

He's still clutching the glass, and now he sets it on the counter, dropping the lid of the toilet and sitting down. He opens up his pants and gets his cock out, and yeah, he's hard -- despite the fear, despite the panic, he's still hard.

 _I hate him. I hate belonging to him._

He makes the first one quick, knowing he's going to need a hell of a lot of recovery time for the second. A few too-rough strokes, a bite on his left shoulder, and he has to scramble for the glass, panting. Halfway there.

There are a few moments in the afterglow of orgasm where he can forget where he is. In the end, though, he has to come back to himself. He has to face the reality of these walls, and the fact that he's trapped in them.

He could step out. He could unlock the door and deal with whatever Pierce gives him. Maybe Pierce would be disappointed enough to throw him out. His house has been on the market for the past few months, butt it hasn't sold yet; until it does, Sean still technically has a home of his own.

 _And then what? Boring men who expect you to top, a string of lovers who don't know how much you like being hurt? Men who apologize for leaving you bruised?_

 _Oh God, oh fuck, the walls, let me out, let me out out out..._

When Sean comes to this time, there are red crescents in his palms where his fingers have dug in, and he can feel dampness on his cheeks. _Christ._ He takes a look at himself in the mirror -- hair mussed, eyes red, collar frayed at the edges. Pierce is going to hang him by the thumbs.

 _One more. Get yourself off again and you can leave._

Sean digs a finger under his collar. It doesn't help. It tightens the satin around his neck until it's not just his imagination -- he really can't draw a breath. Not much of one. He closes his eyes and concentrates on that. Can't breathe. Imagines Pierce putting a finger between satin and skin and _pulling_.

Christ, that does it. He's hard again. Hard and ready, though his skin is still sensitive, and it's going to hurt wrapping his hand around his cock.

Yeah. It's going to hurt. Sean loosens his grip on his collar and lets himself take a breath, then tightens the collar again. Can't breathe, and then his grip on his cock hurts, his cock twitches, and _oh, fuck_ , this is going to work. He can do this.

The breaths come shallow, when they come. Sean has three fingers under his collar by the end of it, and he can feel himself growing dizzy, lightheaded. He doesn't know if it's the arousal, the way he's growing nearer to orgasm, his lack of breath, the adrenaline rush from being this fucking scared, but God, he's forgotten everything, the plane, the lavatory, the order, Pierce, right now it's just three fingers tugging at satin and he can't breathe and it _hurts_ , but Christ, it's good, it's so fucking good...

...the glass, _fuck_. Sean tears his fingers out of the collar and grabs the glass off the counter, and he shoots into it, letting out one strangled grunt before he remembers to keep himself silent.

"There," Sean pants, taking a look at the glass; up to the line. "Fucking bastard."

He looks at his reflection again. His whole face is flushed; the collar is probably ruined. It's stretched; it's frayed at one edge. His eyes are still red, but now they're sparking with the rush from orgasm -- from both orgasms -- and the walls don't feel so narrow.

He can leave whenever he wants. He can open the door at will now. It's done.

He washes his face, carefully, and winces at the collar; nothing to be done about it. He tries to tug it into shape, tries to push the frayed strands under the top of the collar, but really, Pierce is going to be furious.

Sean grins. He palms the flute, and slides the door open, sighing with relief at the cooler air of the plane. It's dark enough that no one's going to notice what he's carrying; he slips into his seat next to Pierce and puts the flute on the armrest between them. "Done, Master," he murmurs.

Pierce takes in the flute. He looks at Sean's collar, and the flush under Sean's skin. For a few moments, he remains silent. Then his finger traces the rim of the glass, and he gives a quick look around. "Drink up, lad," he murmurs.

Sean does, without hesitation; he doesn't give a damn about who might be looking, who might be watching. He tilts the glass back and lets the warmth of his come pool into his mouth, licking the inside of the glass once he's finished. He grins up at Pierce.

Pierce doesn't grin back. There's no warmth in his eyes whatever. "Fine," he murmurs. "Put the glass away, Sean. We've a hell of a long trip left ahead of us."


	11. Summoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierce is in Kauai. He's lonely.

Sean feels foundless without Pierce at home. There are no menus to follow, no orders to carry out, and no way for Pierce to tell whether Sean's carried out assignments or not. There are trick questions, such as whether to allow one of Pierce's friends in to hurt him and fuck him when Pierce has given him no warning about such a visitor. Both agreeing and refusing have gotten Sean into trouble; the punishment he took for agreeing was far worse than the punishment he took for refusing, though, so in the future he'll know better than to let someone in.

Pierce has been light on the assignments this time around. He's called home several times and had Sean hurt himself or jerk off, but nothing difficult or humiliating. Sean has gotten progressively more nervous about each phone call; the other shoe is going to drop eventually, and Sean doesn't know what's going to be left of him when it does. Still, at least Sean's at home for all this. Long-distance assignments are bad enough when Sean's at home; having to carry them out in unfamiliar cities is torture.

When the phone rings, Sean leaps for it. It's barely past seven in the morning, but Sean's been up an hour already. The house is too quiet without Pierce here; it's too quiet _with_ Pierce here, when Sean thinks about it, but at least then he has the comfort of knowing his Master is downstairs, rather than knowing he has to come up with his own entertainment for days on end, with no chance of anyone joining him to break up the monotony. Sean hasn't been sleeping well.

"Mr. Brosnan's house," Sean answers, as he always does. It makes him feel a bit like a secretary, but better to be thought of as Pierce's secretary than his slave.

"Hello, lad."

" _Master_ ," Sean breathes. His heart starts racing almost immediately; Pierce is on the phone, Pierce could offer him a task. Something Sean could carry out on the phone, preferably. Something Sean could do well, perhaps earning praise from it. There are times Sean feels as though one word of praise from Pierce could see him through several uncomfortable, difficult weeks. It's a good thing, because the praise he gets from Pierce is sparing at best. One word for every several weeks is not an exaggerated average.

"How's my lad?" Pierce sounds entirely too jovial for Sean's taste. That generally means he's going to ask for something humiliating.

Sean doesn't try to cover how that affects him; he's given up on trying to figure out why humiliating words from Pierce get him hard and make him more eager than ever to do whatever it is Pierce wants. He heads out to the living room, sits down on the couch and murmurs, "Your boy is eager to please his Master, if his Master is feeling indulgent today. How's my Master?"

"Lonely," Pierce says lightly. "I'd like my boy to come out and see me."

Sean pauses for a moment, wondering if Pierce is really implying what he seems to be. "Master... is in Kauai," Sean points out.

"Mm. I've got a ticket booked for you. You leave at 4:30 this afternoon. You'll be here a week and a half."

Sean loses his grip on formal voice. "You want me to come to Kauai to be with you?" he asks softly.

"That was certainly the implication," Pierce sighs. "Christ, lad, but you're slow today, aren't you?"

"Your boy apologizes for his failing," Sean says, half-smiling. Sharp remark or not, Pierce wants Sean with him on location. A week and a half. Sean wonders whether there's a break in filming or whether Sean will simply be there to take care of Pierce while he's not shooting. Either way, Sean is eager to go.

"You'll make up for it when you get here. I suggest you hurry and decide what you'll pack; you don't have long. I want you packing clothes for ten days, and something to do to keep yourself occupied while you're not serving me. Wear your collar on the flight, and do not under any circumstances take it off. Understand?"

"Yes, Master," Sean answers. He's been out of his collar since Pierce left; Pierce didn't tell him to wear it while he was gone. Pierce knows damn well Sean hates the collars, and has let Sean out of them more often than not when Sean isn't on display. The collar won't be nearly as bad on this flight as it was on the first flight they took together, when being put in collars was still fairly new and Pierce was still pushing that particular uncomfortable button at every opportunity. Sean holds his breath, hoping Pierce won't have any other requests for him. _God, please, don't let him ask me to jerk off in the lavatory again._ Sean's fear of flying and his claustrophobia made that nearly an impossible assignment; while he came through it better than he expected, that's another experience he'd prefer not to repeat if at all possible.

"Hurry up, then, lad," Pierce says. "And lad?"

"Yes, Master?"

"I've missed you."

Sean closes his eyes, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. "Your boy misses you very much, Master," he whispers.

"You have two stopovers, a short one in Washington and a much longer one in Los Angeles. Nearly a full twelve hours. I don't want you leaving to get a hotel room, and I don't want you sleeping. You're to call me every hour on the hour, and I expect to hear airport noise in the background when you do."

 _Stopovers. Christ._ Flying is bad enough without having it broken up into chunks; Sean wonders why Pierce didn't simply arrange for a flight that took him from Heathrow to LAX and then one that goes from LAX to Lihue. _Maybe it was the best he could do on short notice._ Sean doubts it, somehow.

"Yes, Master, I understand," Sean says quietly. "May I sleep on the airplanes, Master?"

"If you can manage it, by all means. No drinking, no sleeping pills, no Valium, lad. You handle it on your own."

 _Worse and worse._ "If it pleases Master, his boy will be glad to manage the flights on his own."

"Good boy," Pierce murmurs. "Go on, then. I'll see you at approximately 3:00pm local time."

"Yes, Master. Your boy wishes you a pleasant day, Master."

The phone clicks off in Sean's ear, and he doesn't waste any time; he heads upstairs to pack.


	12. Takeoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean lands in Washington, DC, and calls his Master.

The flight from Heathrow to Washington is a long one, over eight hours. The takeoff is difficult, and Sean ends up closing his eyes, wondering whether Pierce would ever know if he has a drink early in the flight. He needs something. Needs to figure out how to manage this flight. He's done the math, and he won't be landing in Kauai for nearly 40 hours.

"Mr. Bean? Can I offer you something?" The steward rests a gentle hand on Sean's shoulder, and Sean looks up with a wan smile. At least there's something pretty to look at on the flight; the steward is young, tall, slim, with dark hair and eyes nearly as green as Sean's. In other times, Sean would have given a glance to the lavatory and put up with the discomfort of being trapped somewhere small in order to have it off with him; it wouldn't take long, and he'd be damned well distracted from his location.

That's not an option this time, though. Sean won't be getting any sleep, not to mention a shower, and Pierce would smell it all over him if he went off for a random fuck with a stranger. That's not how Sean wants to start out his ten days with Pierce.

"Thank you, no," Sean says softly.

"Let me know if you change your mind," says the steward, and he heads off down the aisle.

 _Ten days. Ten days in Kauai, because he wants me there. Because he misses me._ Sean closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. That thought will get him through this godforsaken mass of flights. It has to.

He eventually nods off on the flight to Washington, only waking up when the plane begins its descent. This is one of Sean's least favorite parts of the flight -- falling behind only heavy turbulence and takeoffs -- but at least it means the first leg is coming to an end. He has nearly two hours in Washington, and it's 8pm here; it's around 3pm in Hawaii. Pierce might or might not be available, but at least Sean can call his hotel room. He hasn't been asked to call, but checking in with his Master shouldn't get him into too much trouble. He finds an abandoned bank of phones and dials the number for Pierce's room.

It takes three rings for Pierce to pick up. "Yes?"

"Master," Sean says, very softly, "your boy's in Washington."

A slight pause, and then Pierce chuckles. "How was your flight, lad?" There are some slight sounds of fabric shifting, as if Pierce is getting comfortable.

"It was tolerable, Master," Sean says. He gives a quick glance behind him to make sure no one's listening in; not that he expects anyone to be, not that he'd expect anyone to recognize him even if they did, but it's still a concern for him.

"Only tolerable? Pity. Did you sleep at all?"

"A bit, Master," Sean says. He leans against the divider between phone stalls and smiles. "Nearly four hours, I think, all told."

"Good boy." And then there's a noise that rivets Sean's attention completely: a zipper coming undone. "Come here, boy."

"Master?" Sean asks.

"Lad, you've interrupted something here. I'm not complaining, mind, but you'll have to accept my divided attention for the time being." And then, not to Sean, he says, "Good... harder." A rough exhale, and then a soft moan.

"If Master wishes his boy to afford him privacy..." Sean begins.

"Does my boy not like the idea of his Master taking pleasure from someone else?" Pierce asks.

Sean closes his eyes and goes red. "Your boy has no preference, Master." Not quite true; Sean's a bit embarrassed, and worse, quite hard.

"I think my boy does have a preference," Pierce disagrees; his voice is going slightly breathless. "Tell me what you're thinking, lad."

"That I wish I were there, Master," Sean murmurs.

"You wish it was your mouth on me? No, keep your teeth covered -- that's it. Mm." Pierce lets out a soft sigh.

"Yes, Master," Sean says, but that's not quite true, either. _I wish I were watching._

"Your mouth's not this good," Pierce says. "But you love it enough to make up for part of that."

"Master, yes, this boy loves sucking you off," Sean mumbles into the phone. He's gone red enough to glow, and is praying no one comes over to these particular phone alcoves. "Please, Master, this boy is so far away from you, and misses you so badly..."

"And what does my boy want, then?" Pierce asks. There's an element of strain in his voice; Sean recognizes it from all the times he's brought Pierce to orgasm himself.

"Master, please, this boy only wants to hear your pleasure," Sean whispers.

"My boy doesn't want permission to bring himself to orgasm?" Pierce asks, laughing a bit.

"If it pleases Master, yes, God, yes, please, but Master, let me hear you." Begging, and in public; Sean doesn't care.

"Tell me why I should let you," Pierce hisses; Sean can tell it's taking a great deal of effort to keep from coming, and the idea that Pierce is holding back from orgasm in order to make Sean prove he deserves to hear it... Sean is taken entirely breathless by the idea.

"Because I'm here to please you, Master. Because I've just finished an eight-hour flight, and I have two five-hour flights left, and all I want is to be with you again and please you. And if I can't be the one to please you, I want to know that at least you're taking your pleasure from someone. Please, Master, may I listen to you when you come?"

The answer is a long, soft moan; affirmation by action, as Pierce gives Sean the sound he's been begging for. There are several panted, hoarse breaths afterward, and Pierce murmuring something to the boy actually in the room with him. Sean keeps his breathing silent, so as not to miss any of the sounds Pierce might be making.

A few moments later, Pierce sighs. "There, now," he murmurs. "Is my boy happy?"

"Your boy is delighted, Master." And hard, and aching, but that doesn't matter.

"Does my boy want permission to bring himself to orgasm?"

Sean gives a short half-laugh. "Yes, Master, your boy begs permission."

"Mm." Pierce yawns, and Sean bites down on his lower lip to keep from joining him. "Go on, then."

Sean blinks. "Here? Master, I'm in the airport."

"And?"

"And..." Sean looks around. No one's coming by to use the phones, but this part of the airport isn't entirely deserted; every so often people pass by, or walk this way to stretch their legs. "And it's rather in public, Master," he whispers.

"Are you close, lad?" Pierce asks.

Sean closes his eyes. After hearing Pierce come... "Yes, Master, very close."

"Then snap to it. Come. And find yourself somewhere to clean up after."

Sean is beginning to rethink the wisdom of asking for permission for this orgasm. "Master, please..."

"Please what, lad?" Pierce's voice grows sharp. "Do you want to come or not?"

"Master -- badly, yes, but -- please, Master, not here," Sean begs.

"Let me see if I can clarify matters for you, lad," Pierce snaps. "You're coming to me and you're coming having refused an order. What possible reason would I have to take you once you get here?"

"I don't want to refuse, Master, I only don't want to get myself arrested," Sean protests.

"Well, then, be discreet and be fast, and clean up rather quickly afterward." Pierce's voice drops into a soft, nearly purring register. "Shall I tell you what you'll do for me when you get here, lad?"

"Master, please." Sean gives one last look around and then shrugs out of his jacket. He drops it over his arm and then tucks the phone between his ear and his shoulder. His other hand goes to his cock, stroking it through the material of his trousers and briefs. He's not at all sure he can do this, but it's an order. He doesn't have a choice.

"I'll get you to the hotel. We'll start there. I've a nice little convertible, and I'll drive you home in it. The air's cool here, damp. We might not get all the way home before it starts raining heavily. We might have to pull over to the side of the road to get the top up." Pierce sighs softly before continuing. "And if we do, then the windows will end up fogged over instantly. And I'll put my hand on the back of your neck and tug you over so you're nuzzling at my lap."

Close. Sean's close, and maybe this is possible. "Yes, Master, please," he whispers. "Master, your boy begs permission to come for you."

"Go on, lad. _Now_ ," Pierce insists, and that insistence drives Sean up and over, making him grit his teeth together hard and hold his breath while he comes, cock pulsing in his trousers under his hand.

When it's over, he lets out an unsteady breath against the receiver. "Thank you, Master," he whispers.

"Good lad," Pierce murmurs. "Now go clean up, and get to Los Angeles so you can call me. Your plane lands at midnight. Call me when you get there, and then every hour on the hour."

"Yes, Master," Sean says, shuddering. "Of course, Master."

The phone clicks off in Sean's ear, and he hangs it up, very slowly, very deliberately. There's a trace of a smile on his face as he walks off toward the restroom. Smiles speak of many things -- irony, amusement, happiness, contentment, lust, love -- and Sean realizes, without regret, that he's feeling all of them.


	13. Fantasies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean makes the hourly phone calls, and tells his Master about something from his past.

Los Angeles International Airport is never deserted, not even at midnight. Sean sighs as he gets off the plane -- somehow flights seem longer when they're over land instead of over sea -- and makes his way to the nearest available pay phone. He dials Pierce's number and turns around, leaning heavily against the side of the phone cubby.

"Yes?"

"Master, it's Sean. I'm in Los Angeles."

"Mm. Good. Flight on time, then?"

"Yes, Master."

"Difficult for you?"

Sean shakes his head. "No more than any other flight, Master. I'm grateful to be on solid land."

"One more leg to go, lad. Are you ready for the night ahead?"

"More than, Master. Every hour on the hour. I understand."

"Good boy," Pierce murmurs. "Make it worth my while to hear from you."

"Master?" Sean asks, frowning.

"I'll be waking up every hour for the next twelve. Make it worth my while."

"Yes, Master, but how--?"

And the phone clicks off in Sean's ear.

* * * * *

1:00am. Sean dials the number and waits for Pierce to pick up.

"Yes?" Pierce's voice is too alert for Sean to have brought him out of sleep. Sean smiles.

"Hello, Master. It's one in the morning here in Los Angeles, and your boy is calling to tell you his first hour's gone well."

"Has it? What have you been up to?"

"Nothing in particular, Master, but the nervousness from the flights has worn down." And will be gearing up sometime soon for the next leg of the flight, but Sean pushes that fear aside.

"Good," Pierce sighs. "Why am I on the phone with you?" he asks.

"Because you asked me to call...?"

"No, lad. What's making this phone call worth my while?"

 _Damn it._ Sean closes his eyes. "The state of your boy's nerves is not enough, Master?"

Pierce laughs quietly. "The state of my boy's nerves was not something I called into question. I imagine your last few phone calls will be increasingly frantic. I know your nerves where planes are concerned, lad."

"Then I don't know what to offer, Master," Sean murmurs. "What would my Master like to hear?"

"I don't know. A story. A song. A poem. A fantasy. Tell me something I don't know already, boy."

Sean pauses. "I -- a story, Master?" He's filed all the suggestions away and will use them on successive calls; for now, he's starting with the first.

"Fine, then. A story. _'Once upon a time...'_ " Pierce prompts.

"Once upon a time..." Sean pauses. "What sort of story would please my Master?"

"Tell me what you did before you came to me. What you resorted to in hopes of getting what you wanted."

Sean holds his breath for a moment. That explains the assignment well enough, and he knows what sort of story is likely to please Pierce the most. "Once upon a time there was a lad who visited pubs on the rough side of town in hopes of finding someone who'd scare him," he murmurs.

"How long did it take you to realize you enjoyed being scared?" Pierce asks.

"Too long. Not long enough." Sean lets out a breath. "It never worked."

"You were looking in the wrong places."

"Yes, Master."

"Needed something more."

"Yes, Master."

"Keep talking."

Sean nods, eyes closed. "The lad met a man at the pub one night who was sitting at the bar, alone, smoking, drinking scotch. Sat down and bought the man a drink, and the man didn't speak, didn't say a word. When he was done with the cigarette, he crushed it out; when he was done with the drink, he turned to the lad and inclined his head, telling the lad to follow him out to the alley behind the bar."

"Never spoke?"

"Not then, Master," Sean murmurs. His voice is growing softer with every word; it's an effort to keep the words audible.

"Go on, lad."

"The alley was dark, cold, and the bricks were rough. They were rough on the lad's palms when the man shoved him against the wall, and tugged down the lad's pants. There was a rubber, at least, but no more than that, and when the lad cried out the man put his hand over the lad's mouth and gripped so hard it forced the lad to whimper." Sean turns around, forehead pressed to the edge of the divider; it's harder telling this story than he thought it would be. "The man's hand on his mouth, the other arm around his waist, and the lad held still and tried to take all he was being given."

"Did it hurt, lad?" Pierce whispers.

Sean ignores the question; he might get into trouble for that later, but if he stops telling the story now he's not going to finish it. "It lasted too long. Longer than the lad expected, and every moment hurt. The lad would have screamed if he'd been able to draw breath for it. And then he was crushed into the wall by the weight of the man behind him, as the man came and bit down hard on the lad's shoulder."

"And the lad came screaming...?" Pierce asks.

"The lad did not," Sean murmurs. "The man pulled away and tossed his rubber to the ground, and left the lad bleeding in the alleyway. The lad took his torn arse home and took time for recovery, and spent the next seven months beating off to the memory of being left to bleed."

Pierce is maddeningly silent on the other end of the line, and Sean bites his lower lip trying not to beg for words.

"Master?"

"It was a good story, lad," Pierce says softly. "I'll talk to you again in an hour."

* * * * *

2:00am. Sean dials the phone and waits for Pierce to pick up.

When he does, his voice is a bit more drawling than it was an hour ago. "Hello?"

"Master. Did I wake you?"

"Yes," Pierce says. There's a rustling of fabric, and Pierce groans a bit as he stretches. "But I expected you to; we both know that. Make it worth my while, lad. Tell me another bedtime story."

"All right, Master," Sean murmurs. Sean spent the last hour looking for the most abandoned bank of phones in the airport, and at two in the morning, he's not concerned about anyone walking by. "What would please my Master to hear?" he asks, doing his best to put his voice in a low, seductive register.

"It pleases your Master to hear the tone of your voice, lad," Pierce says. "Tell me something you'd like me to do for you when you arrive."

Sean holds his breath. Telling him won't guarantee he'll get it, of course, but that he's even being asked is novel. The first thing that comes to mind is something he can't imagine Pierce giving him, and to that end it seems safe enough to tell him. "Your boy would beg his Master for the gift of his mouth," Sean murmurs.

"What would you have me do with it?" Pierce asks. "Be detailed, lad. I'm looking for a story that would inspire me to stroke off, after all."

"Oh." Sean smiles, but his voice goes a bit quiet. "Oh," he repeats. "Master... your boy remembers the first time you used your teeth on him. On the back of his neck, out in your yard, do you recall?"

"Yes," Pierce murmurs. "I remember it got you hard immediately."

"Yes, Master." Sean smiles with the memory. "My Master has splendid teeth, and I would love to feel them all over me. My shoulders, my chest... working your way down my body to my nipples, catching the skin just above my hip, the insides of my thighs. I would beg for a collection of your bruises, things I could press my fingers into and remind myself of the pain you gave me."

"I might be willing," Pierce says. "What else, lad? Or is it only my teeth you're after?"

"Your boy would beg for your mouth on his cock," Sean whispers. "It's something your boy misses, Master, though he prefers to give pleasure with his mouth to the pleasure of receiving it."

" _Mm._ " Pierce yawns a bit, and Sean struggles to keep from following. "Would you like me to give you a plug to wear while I suck you off?"

 _...while I suck you off._ Sean grunts softly and drops a hand to his crotch, squeezing his cock hard before letting out a breath and trying to answer. "Yes, please, Master," Sean moans.

"Something quite large, I think, large enough for distraction. And I'd rock it into you while my mouth took your cock."

"Please, Master," Sean whispers.

"Do you know what else I'd like, lad? I'd like to have you in clamps while I do this."

"Your boy would beg for you to put clamps on him, Master," Sean breathes. "Would beg you to tug on them while you let me feel your mouth on me."

"I'd rather see you do it to yourself," Pierce murmurs. "Have you tug hard while I take you into my throat..."

"Oh, Master, _please_ ," Sean begs. "Please, Master, your boy would do anything to earn that."

"My boy would do anything regardless," Pierce chuckles. "Call me in an hour, lad, and we'll talk more about your fantasies."

The phone clicks off in Sean's ear, and he closes his eyes for a moment before putting the handset back in the cradle.

* * * * *

 _Would you like me to cane you again, lad? Would you like me to hurt you until you're bleeding?_

Sean is going to go mad.

 _Shall I take you against the door when you arrive, do you think? Perhaps I'll just get my fingers slick with spit and press them inside you while you fight me. I'll fuck you that way, dry and bare, and bite down on your neck until you come for me..._

Hour after hour, and he's gotten no sleep. He knew well enough that he wasn't going to be sleeping, but the reality of what Pierce is doing to him with these phone calls and his distraction is more than he thinks he can bear. Arousal until he can barely breathe; monotonous minutes after the phone calls are over. Sean wants more than this. _Needs_ more than this, and he's made up his mind that the next time he calls Pierce, he'll beg permission to go to the public loo and get himself off.

The phone rings. It's six in the morning in Los Angeles; four in the morning in Kauai. Sean checks his watch when the phone reaches its third ring; it hasn't taken more than two on any of the other calls. He's not late, but maybe Pierce is sleeping. When the phone clicks to voice mail, Sean leaves a quick message -- _Master, it's Sean, calling to serve you_ \-- and tries again.

Nothing the second time, either; Sean stops, then, and lets Pierce get his sleep.

An hour later, the phone picks up on the first ring. "Lad," Pierce says, voice thick from sleep. "You called an hour ago. I missed you."

"Your boy hopes you slept well, Master," Sean answers.

"I did. Did my boy sleep?"

"No, Master, as ordered not to, Master."

"Good lad." Pierce is starting to sound drained. "Hearing your voice is enough this time, lad. Call again in an hour."

"Yes--" Pierce clicks off before Sean can finish the sentence.

There's something almost reverent in Sean's posture, in his expressions, as he paces the floor of the airport keeping himself awake. It's all too easy to forget the time, the place, the flight he's going to be taking in an hour, under the memory of what he's doing here. He remembers thinking, at first, that staying awake and making these phone calls every hour was going to be torture. And it is -- he can't quite deny that -- but if it's torture, it's something he's willing to do because his Master wants it. Something he's _proud_ to offer as proof of his commitment.

The last few phone calls are short; Sean knows he's keeping Pierce up with them, and he doesn't linger. He wants more words -- wants to be able to tell Pierce what he's learning from the phone calls and the lack of sleep -- but he wonders if he'll feel this strong after he's had time to sleep, and whether he should wait to make confessions until he's gathered his thoughts more completely.

It's a moot point, really; Pierce gets him off the phone as soon as possible for the last calls, and Sean gets himself on the plane as soon as preboarding starts. It's the first time he's done that. Normally he lingers in the airport until the final boarding call's been made. The less time he has to spend buckled into his seat waiting for the plane to take off, the better. This time he's eager to get to Pierce, and the plane is how he's getting there. It's the first time he can remember wanting to be in the air, and he drops off to sleep almost as soon as he's in his seat. It's the easiest flight he's ever taken.


	14. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean arrives in Lihue, and the greeting outdoes his fantasies.

Sean isn't the first one off the plane, which is unusual for him. The flight itself has been unusual; Sean woke up in the midst of a particularly turbulent patch of air, and there was no sense of panic, no feeling that he couldn't manage the flight, no need to cling to the arms of his seat and shake. The turbulence was acknowledged and then ignored, and what Sean found himself thinking in his one moment of discomfort was _If this is what it takes to get to Master, then so be it._

As a result, he comes off the plane looking decently-rested and ready for nearly anything. His eyes search out Pierce, and spot him drinking a cup of coffee with a second cup in his other hand. Sean grins. If he didn't think Pierce would be severely displeased by the public display, he'd go to his knees at Pierce's feet here, now, the crowd be damned. It's so damn good to be here. He only wishes Pierce were smiling back.

"Hello," Sean murmurs. He inclines his head respectfully and fixes his eyes on Pierce's. "How are you this morning?"

Pierce hands the second cup of coffee to Sean. "Not awake," he mumbles. "But glad to see you."

Four words -- _glad to see you_ \-- have never had such a profound effect on Sean. He takes a grateful drink of his coffee and adjusts the strap of his carryon bag over his shoulder. "I have baggage to pick up," he says. "Shall we make our way there?"

Pierce doesn't say anything else; he turns on his heel and leads Sean out to the baggage claim.

The carousels are already turning by the time they get there. It doesn't take long before Sean's one suitcase is sent down the ramp, and he picks it up and looks to Pierce for more direction. Pierce points toward the doors, and they make their way outside.

Pierce's car is a small convertible. Sean gets his suitcase and bag into the boot without much difficulty, thinking about the fantasy Pierce spun about the drive to the hotel and the way the island is so often rainy. It's cool out, not the warm tropical temperature Sean expects from a place like Hawaii, but it's still beautiful. The island is lush and green, and they pass through forest and drive by beachfront as they make their way to the hotel.

"Master?" Sean murmurs. "This boy thanks you for wanting him here with you."

Pierce grins. "My lad's in a better mood than I expected. How was the flight here?"

"Easy, Master." Sean turns his eyes to the road, not quite sure whether now is the appropriate time to let out his feelings. "Your boy thought of nothing but seeing you again, and was able to handle the flight better than he'd expected."

"Did you sleep at all?"

"Quite a bit, Master, all but perhaps half an hour of it."

"Good," Pierce says. "Then I won't need to give you time to rest before I have you on the bed and I'm hurting you."

Sean's head tilts back against the headrest. It's been weeks since he's been hurt, nearly two months since he's taken pain from Pierce. "Please, Master," he whispers.

"I'm going to give you something harsh as we start off. Something you'll be healing from all week long. I want to see welts on your shoulders. Bruises that start out a brilliant red for me and go dark purple after we're finished."

It sounds brilliant to Sean. "Please, Master, I would love to take bruises from you."

"I know." But Pierce is oddly quiet as they make their way back to the hotel, not asking any more questions or making any more oblique demands. At the hotel itself, he has a bellhop get Sean's luggage and tosses the car keys to a valet, and then he leads Sean upstairs to their suite.

When the bellhop's gone, Pierce gestures at the double doors leading into the bedroom. "Strip off, prep yourself, kneel at the foot of the bed, and get your arms spread wide." He heads to the wet bar and pours a glass of ice water and fixes himself a scotch and soda, sipping almost gingerly at it as he follows Sean into the bedroom.

The bedroom is large, very neatly kept; part of that is probably the maid service, but part of it is probably Pierce and his general tendency toward neatness. What's also neat in the room is a selection of tools, all things meant to hurt -- a heavy flogger, a cat, a crop, a cock ring with nipple clamps attached. There's lube on the bed as well, and a medium-sized plug with nasty-looking ridges. Sean strips his clothes off, tossing them neatly over a chair in the corner of the room, and quickly slicks his fingers and slides them inside himself. He closes his teeth down over a moan as he finishes with the lube and gets the plug in; with this sort of stimulation, he could probably come at any moment.

Sean is almost painfully hard as he goes to his knees at the foot of the bed. His fingertips just graze the posters of the bed, and then only if he's stretching; he rests his hands on the wood of the footboard, curling his fingers around it and trying to relax. Pierce walks in and scratches lightly at the back of Sean's neck as he passes him by; Sean shivers, and it makes Pierce smile in return, though Sean can't see it. He sets both glasses down on the nightstand, and leans against the side of the bed, fingers moving from flogger to cat to crop and back.

"What does my boy think?" Pierce asks quietly. "What shall I mark you with?"

"The cat, Master?" Sean asks. The crop is almost impersonal; the flogger won't offer him the kind of nasty, sharp pain he's looking for. The cat looks perfect, though, and he glances up at Pierce, hoping he's made the right choice.

Pierce nods, setting the other toys aside and picking up the cat. "My boy's eager this morning," he observes. "This much eagerness after such a long night?"

"Your boy is grateful the night is over, Master, and more grateful than he could have expressed for being under your care again."

Pierce snorts quietly. "Is he, then? How fortunate for both of us. Don't bother counting, lad. I'm not going to stop until your shoulders are aching so badly you won't be able to move them for the rest of the day."

"Yes, Master, _please_ ," Sean begs, and he lowers his head, settling in and bracing himself, ready to relax into the strokes and take as much pain as he's offered.

Pierce doesn't tease, but he's well aware of how long it's been since Sean's taken this much pain. He starts slowly, leather landing against Sean's skin in sharp but restrained strokes.

Sean grunts with every impact, still hard, still wanting more. He reminds himself to be patient, and breathes in time with the blows, remembering Pierce's order and keeping himself from taking even a mental count.

Sean's skin is already going a bit pink. Pierce begins altering the weight of the strokes, getting them steadily more forceful until he can see Sean's knuckles going white.

"You wouldn't scream even if I asked you for it, would you, lad?" Pierce murmurs. Another blow. "Why are you so afraid of screaming?"

Sean says nothing, barely holding on to the footboard. It hurts, more than he remembered, and the pain is beautiful, more than he expected.

"Answer me in _words_ , lad," Pierce says. The knotted tails of the cat come down against Sean's shoulders in a particularly vicious blow, and Sean cries out, then struggles to get his breathing in order.

"Screaming means..." Sean begins, but he has to pause to grunt through another few sharp blows. "Means it's nearly over, Master," he finishes.

"And where did you learn that?" Pierce asks. "It doesn't end until I'm through with you. Doesn't end--" another hard, biting blow-- "until I get what I want out of you."

"You want me to scream," Sean gasps, "and you think that means it's all I can bear."

"Christ, but you're proud of your pain tolerance," Pierce says, not quite sneering. "I stop when it pleases me to stop. I stop because you don't -- _earn_ \-- the kind of pain you want. Can't earn it."

"Why?" Sean gasps, and his fingers sink into wood while he growls through the next set of four sharp, quick blows.

"Because you want it for _yourself_ ," Pierce hisses. And then he goes silent, and Sean can't help counting, wondering with each blow if this is going to be the last.

Pierce lasts another dozen strokes before throwing down the cat. "You want more because you're greedy, and you think what you want matters." His hands splay out, and he runs them up from Sean's waist over his shoulders. It stings, badly, and Sean can tell there are dozens of tiny cuts on his back. Nothing that would leave him bleeding seriously, but taken all together, it's enough to leave Pierce's hands stained. Sean shakes under Pierce's hands, and arches his back. He can't tell whether the touch is meant to please him or punish him. It's always so damned difficult to tell the difference with Pierce. Pierce's whims are never predictable.

Right now whim is leading him to work the plug out of Sean's arse, and Sean moans. He'd arch back and offer himself more directly if it weren't for Pierce's last words -- _you think what you want matters_. It's a test. Sean wants to be fucked, wants it badly, but begging for it isn't going to get him anywhere. He relaxes his grip on the footboard, and waits to see what Pierce will demand next.

It's Pierce's fingers, sliding into him, reaching for that spot and pressing down hard. Sean jumps, and Pierce lets out a satisfied growl. "Could you come this way?" he asks.

"Yes, Master," Sean whispers.

"Then do it." And his fingers move in harder, rough strokes and merciless pressure against that spot, until Sean is gasping and clenching the footboard, coming with strangled, grunted moans.

"Master -- thank you," Sean whispers.

"Not yet. I'm not done with you yet. Get up. _Up._ On your feet." Pierce pulls his fingers free, perhaps a bit too fast for comfort, and slaps Sean smartly on one cheek. "Up, lad."

Sean struggles to his feet as fast as he can, using the bedframe and the nearest poster to lever himself upright. Pierce follows, pushing Sean onto the bed, rolling him over when Sean tries to brace himself on his forearms.

"On your _back_ ," Pierce snarls, and Sean winces hard, trying not to cry out when his shoulders hit the coverlet. Pierce gets Sean onto the bed, stretched out crossways so his arse is at the edge of the mattress, and then strips out of his clothes and draws a hand from Sean's ankle to his hip, along the outside of his leg. "Don't make a sound."

Sean would thank Pierce in words if he had permission; without it, he makes do with the look in his eyes.

 _I love you, Master._

He's not sure Pierce is even paying attention. Pierce is reaching for lube, slicking his cock, sliding rough fingers into Sean and twisting them hard against his prostate. Sean's mouth falls open, and he does his best to keep from making any sound, but _oh God_ it's not easy, and his breaths are coming out audibly, harsh pants that fall into a fast, vicious rhythm.

Pierce isn't punishing him for the sound, though. He reaches down and braces a hand on Sean's shoulder, keeping him pinned to the bed, and then lines himself up and sinks in. Slowly. One bare inch at a time, and Sean has to concentrate hard on not begging for more, faster, harder, _hurt me_. He looks down at Pierce's hand, the heel of it carrying most of Pierce's weight, and up at Pierce's face, not quite devoid of all emotion, and he can't help himself -- he brings the arm that isn't pinned to the bed up and tries to reach Pierce's face with his fingertips.

Pierce slams Sean's hand down to the bed, falling forward slightly as he leans on shoulder and wrist. It takes his cock in deeper, and Sean grunts, cutting off the noise before it can truly become a sound in the room. He'll take hell for that later, he's sure of it, but for right now Pierce is losing himself in the brutal pace of fucking him. And oh, God, it's beautiful, watching his Master lose himself. Sean's been lost in the feelings Pierce has given him more times than he can count; the idea that Pierce can get lost, that he can trust himself and Sean enough to skirt the edge of madness -- Sean wants nothing more than to bite out the words _yes, Master, trust me, please_ , and the order to stay silent has never felt so heavy on his shoulders.

"Mine," Pierce whispers. His grip on Sean's wrist tightens painfully, and Sean hisses through his teeth. " _Mine_ ," Pierce repeats, and Sean nods once, hard. Pierce gives a half-laugh and surges forward, one more time, and then his head snaps back and he's coming, with loud, gasping moans, one after another until he's spent. His grip on Sean goes loose, enough for Sean to try reaching for him again.

It doesn't work. Pierce simply lets him go and stalks off to the bathroom to clean up. Sean closes his eyes and holds his position on the bed. _Missed you so much, Master._

When Pierce comes back, he tosses covers aside and slides into the bed. "I didn't sleep well," he murmurs. "Come join me. I haven't slept well since we've been apart."

Sean climbs up the bed eagerly and settles into Pierce's arms. "I've missed you," he whispers.

"Good boy," Pierce says. "I've missed you, too."


	15. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean makes his confession, with consequences.

Sean wakes up several hours later. He's not at all sure what time it is, so he lifts his head from where it's been resting on Pierce's chest and looks around. The clock on the nightstand reads 4:00, and given the fact that it's still light out, Sean assumes that means four in the afternoon. He looks up at Pierce, who's stirring just a bit; it's enough to get Sean's attention, since those are signs Pierce will be coming awake soon.

"Would Master like coffee?" Sean murmurs. He's sure there's coffee somewhere in this suite; it would only be a matter of finding it.

Pierce makes an affirmative noise, and Sean smiles. He allows himself the liberty of leaving a small kiss on Pierce's chest before wandering out to the outer room of the suite and searching out the coffee machine.

It doesn't take long to get coffee made, and Sean kneels at the side of the bed to present it. Pierce levers himself up on an elbow and ruffles Sean's hair -- almost affectionately -- before taking the coffee. He leaves Sean on his knees, and Sean slides into the now-familiar present pose Pierce prefers. It feels good to be kneeling this way again.

"You look good there," Pierce murmurs, once coffee has warmed his throat enough to let him get the words out without rumbling them. "How are you feeling after your nap, lad?"

"Grateful, Master," Sean answers.

Pierce lifts an eyebrow. "Grateful, is it? For what?"

"For being here, with you, Master." Sean's smiling entirely too much, and he knows it. He tries to school his expression into something more neutral, and can't quite manage it. He hopes it doesn't go over badly.

"Enjoyed your welcome?" Pierce asks.

"Yes, Master, very much." But that's hardly the tip of what Sean means, and Pierce seems to be picking up on that.

"Out with it, lad. What's on your mind this afternoon?"

Sean seldom gets the opportunity to speak his mind freely, without worry of what Pierce is going to do to him for it. And making his confession after an order such as _Out with it, lad_ is not how he'd pictured these words coming to Pierce, but that doesn't matter now. He takes a breath, and gets his voice steady.

"Your lad's grateful to see you, Master, as he's spent the last few weeks realizing he's fallen in love with you."

It's only after he gets the words out that he realizes he had no idea what Pierce's reaction is going to be. This isn't the vanilla world anymore, where confessions of love are met with shell-shock or pleasure, but rarely anything in between. This is different. When Pierce meets his confession with dead silence, Sean grows tense all over. It was an honest emotion, an honest feeling, but Pierce could turn it into a weapon very easily.

"Come back to bed," Pierce whispers. He puts the coffee down and pulls the covers back, and Sean climbs up, settling in next to Pierce. Pierce rolls on top of him, twining their fingers together and pinning Sean's hands down above his head.

"How long have you wanted to tell me?" Pierce asks.

"Some time now, Master," Sean whispers.

"The timing displeases me." Pierce leans down and nips at Sean's neck; Sean arches his throat to give him better access. "I don't like you coming to such realizations when you're away from me."

"I think, Master... may I continue, please, Master?"

"You've got leave to speak as much as you want this afternoon, Sean." Pierce's breath is warm against Sean's skin, and his teeth are sharp. "Or as much as you can."

Sean shivers and nods very slightly. "I think, Master, that I needed the distance to realize what's been happening in my heart."

"And why's that?"

"When I'm with you, you overwhelm me," Sean whispers. "You can make me feel so many things... I'm never quite sure where I stand."

"That's how it's supposed to be," Pierce murmurs. "That's what I _want_ from you. I want you to be confused and off-guard. Haven't you figured that out yet?"

"Of course, Master." Sean sighs and goes loose under Pierce's teeth and lips, letting Pierce nip and bite his way up Sean's arm. "But you could demand love or any other emotion from me when I'm kneeling for you, or taking pain for you, or giving you pleasure, and I'd do my best to give them. I don't know if they'd be real, but in the moment, I'd die to give them to you."

"And you don't think this is similar?" Pierce's teeth sink down hard into Sean's wrist. Sean gasps, eyes closing, and arches up under Pierce, hips rubbing against his Master's. Pierce levers himself down hard, grinding his thigh against Sean's cock in a way that's meant to hurt, and Sean goes still. "You don't think missing me brought you to a point where you'd think you were feeling something as remarkable as love when it was simply a lack of... certain stimuli?" And he bites down again, just as hard, listening to the sound of Sean's breathing as he tries to keep himself from moving.

"No, Master," Sean whispers. "I have been in love before. I know what's in my heart."

"The times you've been in love before were outside this world of ours," Pierce points out. He draws himself down Sean's body again, still keeping his arms pinned, and begins leaving small sharp bites across his chest. "Love's a different animal here."

"I know, Master." Sean gasps and moans, very quietly, hoping to please Pierce with his sounds. "But my heart knows its purpose here... the same way... God, Master... the same way the rest of my body does. And its purpose is to serve you, if you'll have it."

Pierce doesn't speak for several minutes. He keeps pressing kisses and bites to Sean's chest, alternating in random sequence, never letting Sean make a guess as to what he'll receive next. Sean keeps his eyes closed and gives himself over to the sensations, letting Pierce draw whatever he wants from him.

"You shouldn't give me your heart," Pierce murmurs in the end. He puts his teeth down over Sean's nipple and teases softly, more scratching than biting.

"If my Master orders me to keep my heart as my own, then I will do as ordered," Sean whispers. It's the sort of statement that ought to hurt. It should be nearly breaking him apart to offer. And it doesn't; it doesn't matter. He meant it when he said his place was to do as Pierce orders him. He meant it when he said his heart's purpose is to serve Pierce, if he'll take it. If this won't please his Master, he'll find a way to take it all back.

Pierce comes up and rests his face just above Sean's; Sean can taste Pierce's breath, warm and coffee-scented. "You offered me your heart, lad," Pierce murmurs. "There's no going back now for either of us."

And his lips come down hard on Sean's, claiming him, forcing Sean's mouth open so he can dart his tongue in, quick and demanding. Sean opens gratefully, moaning his assent. Tears are stinging his eyes, but he pays them no attention; Pierce wants him, wants his heart, and that means _everything_ right now.

"Did you prep yourself?" Pierce asks. He nudges Sean's legs apart with a knee. "Are you ready for me?"

"No, I -- I can -- please, Master, let me." Sean glances over to the nightstand. Pierce makes a rough, frustrated noise, but lets him go, and Sean kneels up on the bed, taking the lube and sliding two fingers into himself. Just enough to let Pierce in. He passes his hand over Pierce's cock, giving him a light sheen of lubrication.

Pierce grabs Sean's wrist and tugs it away. "On your hands and knees," he growls. Sean turns over, finding the position, and feels Pierce fist a hand in the hair at the nape of his neck. He cries out, both from the unexpected pain and the beauty of that pain, and then cries out again, louder, when Pierce lines himself up and shoves in deep with one solid, hungry thrust.

"Mine," Pierce whispers, "you don't belong to anyone but me. You are _mine_ , lad." He gives Sean's head a rough shake for emphasis, and begins fucking him hard, hard enough that every thrust has Sean crying out and arching away.

"Where are you going?" Pierce hisses. "Are you going somewhere? Backing out on me now? It's too late for that." He shoves Sean's head down, and Sean loses his precarious balance on his hands, falling on his chest. Pierce wrenches one of Sean's hands behind his back, up between his shoulderblades, and Sean yells out an incomprehensible string of syllables. Somewhere in there, Sean's begging, but he's not begging for it to stop. He's not begging to be let free. Backing out on Pierce now is the last thing on Sean's mind, and as Pierce grinds his face into the mattress, stretches his arm so hard Sean can't imagine how he's going to come away from this fuck without injury, everything seems to slide into place.

 _I belong here. I love you. Thank you, Master._

"If you can come, lad, do it," Pierce growls. And Sean nods, ready to go over. Just a little longer. Just another few strokes, and he'll be there. Pierce gives them to him, tightening his grip on Sean's shoulder and forcing his face into the mattress so hard Sean can't breathe anymore.

 _Can't breathe. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, Master, thank you..._ Sean growls into the mattress as he comes. The pain from his shoulder is so intense he's beginning to have tears leak past his closed eyes, and yet he thinks he could stand it indefinitely if Pierce needed to see him take it. But Pierce lets go, then, bringing both hands to Sean's hips and fucking him so hard Sean cries out with every painful thrust. Sean's afraid he might bleed after this, and that's fucking _perfect_. Pierce has ripped him to pieces emotionally and put him back together; Sean's willing to offer him his body with just as much loyalty.

Pierce's hips snap forward once more, and he goes still, panting out his breath into the quiet of the room. He doesn't collapse against Sean, doesn't say a word when he's finished. He pulls out, slowly, and then he leans over and presses a kiss to the small of Sean's back.

"You're not torn," Pierce murmurs. "Though you'll likely feel that for a while."

"Your boy thanks you for it," Sean whispers.

"I know." Another small kiss, and Pierce lowers himself to his back on the bed, sighing. "Go and shower, lad."

Sean looks at Pierce for a moment, but Pierce isn't meeting his eyes. He frowns. "Master...?"

Pierce gestures toward the bathroom. " _Go_ , lad. I shouldn't have to be telling you this twice."

"No, Master." The lack of eye contact hurts, far worse than the leftover ache in his shoulder or the burn in his arse. "I'm sorry, Master." And Sean pulls himself out of bed, wincing as he limps his way to the bathroom for his shower.

He takes his collar off and lays it flat on the counter before stepping into the shower. The relief from having that damned thing off his neck is great enough to bring tears to Sean's eyes, but in all honesty the tears were already close to the surface; this is only another reason for them. He showers off quickly, hissing hard when the water runs over his back. He'll ache most of the time he's here, and only hopes he's not so hurt that Pierce won't give him more pain during the visit.

The shower's fast, and as soon as Sean's out of the stall and has the water turned off, Pierce is pushing past him for a shower of his own. He still won't meet Sean's eyes. Sean doesn't know what he's done to deserve this punishment, but God, it hurts. _I told you I love you, and you meet me with silence. Was this not what you wanted?_

Giving Pierce one last glance, Sean goes to the counter and clasps the collar back on his neck. It makes him choke almost instantly, but it doesn't matter. He needs to have it on now, needs to feel the discomfort choking and unsettling him. It's small proof of what he wants to give Pierce after his confession, but it's the best he's able to do. He finishes the rest of his routine and walks out of the bathroom, going to his knees by the bed to wait for Pierce.

"Ring for dinner, lad," Pierce says when he walks out of the bathroom. He barely gives Sean a look, and Sean closes his eyes for a moment, trying to ignore how much that hurts. Pierce has a towel wrapped around his waist and is drying his hair off with another. Sean would give quite a lot to lick the leftover water droplets off his master's shoulders, but instead he ends up heading for the phone, flipping through the room service menu and deciding what to order. He knows Pierce's preferences well enough, and can only assume he's allowed to choose something for himself; he ends up with a light pasta and salad for both of them, along with mineral water.

"Half an hour, Master," Sean murmurs. He looks up and stifles a moment of disappointment. Pierce has pulled clothes on, and he's got clothes for Sean as well. He tosses Sean's clothing on the bed and walks around behind him, fingers going to the clasp on Sean's collar.

"Master?"

"I don't want to see you in this right now," Pierce says quietly. "Not tonight."

"Master, _please_ ," Sean whispers. He puts a hand to the collar to keep it from dropping off entirely when Pierce unfastens its hooks and eyes. "I don't want to be out of my collar. I don't want to dress. Please -- just let me kneel for you." He closes his eyes again. "I don't want things to change."

"Things are always changing, Sean. They'd be different now whether you'd told me you loved me or not. One confession here or there makes little difference." Pierce puts a hand on Sean's shoulder, but the touch is hardly possessive. It's the touch of a man to his lover, or a man to his friend. Sean shrugs Pierce's hand away.

"I don't want things to change," Sean repeats, and this time there's a hint of anger in his voice. "I should never have told you."

"It's a little late to regret it, Sean."

" _'Sean'_ ," Sean spits. "How did I earn my name back, Pierce? Would it only have taken a profession of love to get my name on your lips?"

"Stop this," Pierce says. He pulls his hand away and walks around Sean to sit on the bed. "You won't get anything out of me by misbehaving this time, so enough. For tonight, I don't want you in your collar and I don't want you in your role. I just want you, Sean. Just for tonight."

"This isn't how it's supposed to work," Sean murmurs. "You can't just order me to behave normally around you, as if I'm your -- what _are_ we to each other if that fucking collar's not around my neck, then?"

"You tell me," Pierce replies evenly, one eyebrow arched. Now he's looking at Sean again, but those blue eyes of his say nothing worth hearing. It's all about waiting Sean out, being patient while he decides to get dressed.

Sean shakes his head angrily and puts his clothes on. "I don't understand," he growls. "I don't know what in fuck you're looking for."

"I'm looking for what you've got under the role. What's there when you aren't kneeling."

"I thought you weren't interested in me if I'm not kneeling."

"Oh, for God's sake, Sean, why the hell are you arguing so much? Is a day out of role going to kill you?"

Sean stares at Pierce and finally shakes his head. "It's not, no. Is a day in role going to kill you if it's today?"

Pierce looks away. "It might," he murmurs.

"Fucking stupid. I should never have bothered telling you."

"But you did. So let's deal with it. Come on." Pierce inclines his head toward the front room. "Let's take a seat."

Sean follows Pierce out, still uncomfortable with the fit of his clothes. It should be a relief to be out of the collar, but it isn't. He sits down on the couch, wondering what they're going to talk about. Sports? The stock market? The weather? They haven't really _talked_ since Sean came to Pierce's house on his birthday and they became more than friends, more than lovers. Sean has no idea what to say.

"I didn't mean to ruin things," Sean murmurs. "Can we not go back, then?"

"There's never any going back," Pierce sighs. "What makes you think things are ruined? Do you think most people stay in role all the time?"

It's never occurred to Sean to wonder what 'most people' do. "I don't know," Sean admits. "No?"

"There are people who make this a part of their daily lives. They go to work, they come home, and sometimes it's normal and sometimes there are rough, brutal beatings, taken gladly and given gladly." Pierce lifts an eyebrow. "Did it never occur to you there was something in between where you started, with your desperation and the men you tried to convince to hurt you, and where we've ended up, with you at my heels your entire life?"

"Honestly? No." Sean shakes his head.

"Would you want more than that? Do you ever want your life back?"

All these questions are far too difficult. Sean has to think about them each in turn. "No," he says quietly, to the first question. And then, "No," again, to the second. He shakes his head. "When I'm kneeling for you, I feel..." He gropes for the right word. _Christ, why is this so fucking difficult?_ "Whole," he answers, finally. "How do you feel when you're hurting me?"

At first, it seems as though Pierce doesn't want to answer. Sean lets him get away with his silence for a few seconds before pointing out, "If we're out of role, I can prod at you until you answer."

"Hungry," Pierce answers. "Starved. Like I could spend the rest of my life hurting you and watching you suffer for me and never have my fill of it. Are you happy? Is that what you want to know?"

Sean lets out a breath; he didn't even realize he was holding one. "Yes," he whispers. It's a better answer than he'd hoped for.

"I don't want you to love me," Pierce murmurs. "I don't want my _boy_ loving me. It doesn't work, Sean. Emotions get in the way of what we're trying to accomplish here."

" _What_ are we trying to accomplish? How in hell are we supposed to accomplish _anything_ if we feel nothing for each other?"

"It's a means to an end," Pierce says. "All of it. And that end's never going to see the light of day if my boy's in love with me."

Suspicion is creeping up along the edges of Sean's thoughts. "And this is why you're wanting me out of role. Because you don't want to give me up, but you don't want to keep me if I'm in love with you."

"No," Pierce says quietly. "I could keep you if you're in love with me. I can't keep you if I love you in return."

There's a question Sean doesn't want to ask. He has to ask it anyway. "And do you?"

"I'm not certain yet. I think I have a choice."

"Oh, fuck that." Sean shakes his head. "If you're thinking you have a choice, then it's 'no'."

"And if it is, then what, Sean? What are you going to get out of this if you love me and I've found I can't give that back to you? For my part, I can still drag the responses out of you that I'm looking for. I can still hurt you, and I can still see blood coming up on your skin. I can still want you to be mine. What can you do?"

 _Settle. I can settle for this, knowing it's the best I'm going to do._ "I can serve you," Sean murmurs. "Until you grow tired of me."

"You'll grow to hate me, sooner or later. For bringing you to a certain point and stopping."

"I might hate you and love you all at once. Wouldn't that be an interesting feeling?"

Pierce gives a quiet half-laugh. "Then you want to stay."

"That was never in question, was it?"

"I suppose it wasn't." Pierce nods. "All right. We go on this way, then, for a while." He lifts an eyebrow. "As you say, until I grow tired of you."

"Yes."

"Yes...?" Pierce prompts.

"Yes, Master." Sean closes his eyes for a moment after saying it. The words have never felt so comforting.

"Get your collar, lad." Pierce gives a vague gesture to the bedroom. Sean can't get off the sofa fast enough; he's through the door and into the bedroom so quickly he doesn't see the way Pierce covers his face with his hands and lets out a long, shuddering breath.


	16. Suspicion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Sean's confession, things are... odd.

Pierce allows Sean to sleep at the foot of the bed, arm curled protectively over Pierce's feet. It's a solution that satisfies neither of them, but at least they both manage to sleep this way. Sean kicks off the blanket Pierce draped over him as soon as Pierce is asleep.

He wakes up to the sound of water running in the shower. He pads out to the front room and gets coffee started, then calls down to room service for breakfast. And then he heads to the bathroom and gets a fresh towel, and kneels outside the shower, waiting for Pierce to finish.

When Pierce is done, he turns the spray off and slides the shower door open. He sluices water off his hair, slicking it back with both hands, and then steps out of the stall. Sean starts to stand up, getting Pierce's towel out, ready to dry him off, but Pierce stops him with a hand in his hair.

"I want my boy's mouth," Pierce murmurs. He guides Sean's face between his legs, getting Sean's mouth on his inner thigh. "Lick me," he murmurs.

And God, this feels good again. It feels natural to be here, held so hard Sean's skin hurts from the grip. Pierce's skin when he's just out of the shower always tastes so good -- clean, warm, with just a hint of the man underneath the flavor of warm water and soap. Sean gives Pierce just a hint of teeth before moving to the opposite thigh and starting to lick, and then his patience runs out and he begins making long, slow licks up the length of Pierce's cock, moaning softly as it lengthens under his tongue.

"Good lad," Pierce breathes. "No more foreplay. Suck me."

Sean gives an enthusiastic moan and does exactly that, opening his mouth wide and sucking in Pierce's cock, not stopping until he's almost choking. Pierce adjusts his grip on Sean's head and pulls him closer, and Sean does choke this time, air supply cut off completely. _Fuck, that's good._ He'll breathe when he has the chance; it's so good just having the chance to serve Pierce, giving him everything including his breath.

Pierce's hips move forward in small sharp thrusts, each one taking Sean's air away for brief moments before he pulls back. Eventually, he ends up with both hands fisted in Sean's hair, fucking his mouth steadily until he's close.

"Do you want it?" Pierce whispers. Sean can only nod -- and barely that -- and Pierce lets out a soft gasp and arches forward, coming with a rough, nearly-startled cry. Sean goes still, swallowing hard around Pierce's cock, and pulls back to the head, giving it a rough lick as Pierce finishes. In the end, Pierce pulls back and runs fingertips down Sean's face. It's a blessedly possessive move, and Sean adores it.

"Happy, lad?" Pierce asks.

"Yes, Master, quite." Sean's voice is rough, half from morning and half from the activity, and he smiles up at Pierce as he blinks his vision clear.

"I wonder if I've ever told you how good your mouth is." Pierce gives Sean's hair a ruffle and sighs lightly. "Dry me off."

Sean stands, towel in hands, and wraps the towel around Pierce's shoulders, rubbing briskly and making his way down to Pierce's feet. By the time he's reached Pierce's feet, he's half-trembling with lust. It's a good morning -- any morning he's allowed to serve Pierce is good -- and the urge to take pleasure is almost as strong as the urge to serve now.

"Does my boy want something?" Pierce asks. "Do you want to ask a favor?"

"Whatever pleases you, Master." Sean lifts an eyebrow and sinks into his kneeling pose.

Pierce grins down at him. "I think I've decided what to do with you today," he says. "I'm not quite so thrown as I was last night. If there are words you want to give me, give them freely."

Something about the way he's saying that makes Sean suspicious. "Yes, Master," he murmurs. He's not going to give Pierce _I love you_ again, no matter what Pierce says, until he's certain it's not going to get them both into trouble.

"Ask me for something," Pierce urges. "I'm feeling generous enough today."

"Your slave would ask permission to come, then, Master," Sean says. He has a feeling he's asking for trouble, but Pierce wants him to make a request, and there it is.

"In the shower, lad." Pierce steps around Sean, bending down to pick up the towel and toss it over his shoulder. He turns and settles himself against the counter, with the shower in full view. "Where I can watch you."

Something is definitely going on in Pierce's mind now. This is far too generous an offer for morning, especially a morning when Sean hasn't truly done anything worth noting. He gave Pierce his mouth, yes, but that's simply part of his job here. Nothing special.

"Your slave wonders what you're thinking, Master," Sean murmurs. But he adjusts the water to a comfortable warm temperature and steps into the spray all the same.

"Only that I'm going to enjoy watching you all day long," Pierce says. He brings the towel up and starts drying off his hair, and Sean begins the quick process of showering off. When he's washing Pierce, he takes things slowly, making certain it feels good as well as being efficient. On his own, efficiency is plenty. He knows he isn't putting on a particularly good show, but he supposes the show will come after the soap's been rinsed clean from his skin.

Pierce crosses his arms over his chest as Sean gets started. Sean's back is to the spray now, water sluicing over his shoulders, and he slicks gel over his palm and passes his hand over his cock. He gives himself several long, twisting strokes, the kind meant to entice his audience more than to arouse himself. It's a stroke he picked up early on, when he and Pierce were new to each other and he was constantly trying to figure out what pleased his master -- not his lover, not his friend and companion, but the man who held Sean's pleasure or pain in the palms of his hands. Pierce has always enjoyed watching Sean's strokes start slowly, twisting their way up from the base of Sean's cock to the head, and Sean is more than happy to offer that stroke. In some ways, it's better than the quick, efficient stroke he used to give himself when he was alone. The sensation from it makes it quite clear that he's doing it for Pierce, not for himself, and that's enough to get him close, and quickly, every time.

Sean lets out a soft moan and turns toward Pierce. "Master, please, your slave begs to come."

"Not yet."

Sean has to bite back his gratitude. He'd almost expected to be given permission instantly, the moment he asked for it, and the fact that he doesn't have it yet, that he has to wait for it, is painful and pleasant all at once.

"Please, Master, your slave is very close..."

"I know." Pierce shrugs. "When I want you to come, I'll tell you, lad. For now... keep doing just that. It's very pretty, you know."

"I know... that is, Master, I know you think so. You've told me so." Sean nearly curses in frustration; the words aren't coming out properly at all, and while it's true enough that he's distracted, he should be able to do better than that.

"My very pretty lad. You're not delicate at all, are you? Strong. Tough. Not afraid of anything."

"No -- Master, please, your slave has failings. Your slave has fears."

"Does he, now? How unfortunate." Pierce shakes his head. "I'd thought you'd come farther than that for me. What wouldn't you give me if I asked for it?"

"I don't understand, Master," Sean pants. "I'd give you anything you asked for. Anything you needed. Master, please."

"And you're not afraid of what I might ask of you?"

"I'm -- God, Master, I'm too close to think straight, please..."

"You'd better _start_ thinking straight, lad, because I expect answers. Are you afraid of what I might ask of you?"

"No, Master." Sean throws his head back, feeling water flow into his eyes, over his face. The slick glide of his hand on his cock is nearly driving him to insanity, and it's all he can do to keep listening, let alone answering.

"You're not afraid anymore. Because you love me, is that it?"

"Yes, Master," Sean gasps. "Please, Master, need to come so badly..."

"Not yet," Pierce says. "You love me, and you think that means I'll go easy on you?"

"No, Master."

"Good. Come now, Sean."

 _Sean_ again. But Sean can't bring himself to wonder what's happening in Pierce's mind; he's been given permission to come, and he does so, gladly, spilling his seed over his hand and gasping, head going back with the spray pounding down onto his face. He moans, very quietly, over a number of seconds, until the pulses of his cock are done and he's starting to hurt.

He rinses off, efficiently again, and Pierce tosses a clean towel at him. "Dry off," he murmurs. "I'm sure we'll have breakfast here at any moment, and I have plans for us after that. Try not to take too long."

"No, Master," Sean murmurs. "As you please, Master."

There's a glint in Pierce's eyes that Sean doesn't like at all, but he doesn't have a chance to ask what it is before Pierce is gone.


	17. Reward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierce rewards Sean for his loyalty, honesty, and love.

Sean's dressed again, but this time he doesn't mind it so much. He's in his collar, at least. More to the point, they're leaving the room. Pierce hasn't said where they're going, only that they're going out, and Sean is prepared to follow Pierce's lead.

Pierce's car is waiting for them at the curb when they emerge from the hotel. The two of them climb in, Pierce driving, and Pierce puts the top down as they head off.

Pierce still doesn't appear to want to tell Sean where they're going. "Have you ever been to Kauai before, lad?" he asks.

"I have, yes, Master."

"For work?"

"For pleasure, Master." Sean shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He's never told Pierce much about his former lovers, and would rather not start now.

That's all right; Pierce isn't interested in hearing about Sean's past love life. "What did you do while you were here?"

"Not much, Master. Read, mostly, and a bit of exploring. Took a bike ride down a mountainside."

"I don't suppose you surf."

Sean laughs. "No, Master. Do you?"

"Only on film," Pierce grins. "It's a beautiful place, Kauai, with a great deal more to recommend it than biking trails and hotel rooms. You'll be seeing quite a bit of it today."

If Sean had let his guard down at all in the past hour, it's back up now. "My Master's generosity is appreciated," he murmurs. "Master, if I may ask, what are we doing today?"

"I'm taking you on a tour," Pierce answers.

And then Sean notices the scenery, or rather the lack of it; they've reached a part of the island where the trees are all but gone and the land is surprisingly flat. Overhead there are a number of small planes and helicopters, all of which make Sean's stomach drop in sympathy for the poor bastards who are riding in them.

It takes a full ten seconds before the pieces add together, probably because Sean doesn't _want_ them adding together. "Master?" he whispers; his voice won't come out any louder than a croak.

"Yes, lad?"

"What are we doing?"

Pierce pulls into a parking lot next to a small building, and now it's clear where they are. They're at a landing strip for a small airport, one that's got a good dozen helicopters parked on crosses on the ground. All the helicopters are ugly, bubbled things, with great glass fronts so one's view from anywhere in the cockpit is relatively unobstructed.

"Air tour. Ninety minutes of the most beautiful views you'll ever see, lad." Pierce reaches a hand out and trails the backs of his fingers over Sean's cheek. "It's a gift. Something I wanted you to have. Because you love me."

Sean reaches up and grips Pierce's wrist, holding on so tight he can almost feel Pierce's bones grinding together. Pierce doesn't react, and Sean, if asked, wouldn't realize how hard he's holding on. It's a moment of sheer, blind panic. "Master, please, no," he whispers. The bottom's dropped out of his stomach; his heart is in his throat. "Please, not this. You know how afraid I am of flying--"

"I also know you did a damn fine job going from Los Angeles to Lihue, did you not, lad?" Pierce asks evenly. He brings his fingertips up to Sean's face again. Sean's skin is cold, clammy, ashen. He's shaking, and the grip on Pierce's wrist is only getting tighter. "It's a _gift_ , lad, not a punishment. Ninety minutes. You'll enjoy it."

The lack of expression on Pierce's face is what scares Sean the most. He can't tell whether Pierce believes what he's saying -- that Sean can handle this, that he'll enjoy it -- or whether this is the last, roughest torture Pierce could devise for him. Either possibility seems equally likely, and Sean works his jaw, trying to swallow, trying to speak. "Pierce, I can't get on that fucking thing," he whispers. "I can't do this. Even for you. I'm sorry."

"Don't you remember this morning and the shower? You're not afraid of what I might ask you, because you _love_ me. You can do _anything_ for me. Where's your courage now, lad?"

"I don't--" Sean begins, then has to stop and start over. "I can't," he whispers. "Please don't ask me for this."

"I never asked," Pierce murmurs. "And you know it. This wasn't a request, Sean. This was an order. Do you want to know what I'll do to you if you refuse it?"

"You can't do anything worse than putting me on a goddamned helicopter for ninety minutes--"

"I'll cut you loose."

Sean goes still, staring into Pierce's eyes. This is a threat Pierce has never levied on him, not once in all their time together. He can't possibly ignore it. It's _real_.

"You'll always have choices, Sean, even as a slave. You can leave my company -- and believe me when I tell you I know enough people and I have enough influence to make certain no one takes you on again -- or you can do as I've ordered you and you can get on the helicopter. Up to you, lad."

Sean shoves Pierce's wrist away from him, and Pierce, to his credit, does not immediately rub at it, much though it might hurt. Sean sits back in his seat, resting his head against it, closing his eyes and breathing.

 _Ninety minutes. Only that. I can manage that. Please, God, let me manage that._

"I'll go," Sean whispers. "Will you let me hold your hand?"

"You'll have my hand in yours the whole way there."

"God." Sean's eyes still aren't open. "Do you think I could do this if I didn't love you?"

"I think your love gives me a hell of a lot of opportunities that I never would have considered before," Pierce whispers. "I think you need to be broken of it."

"This might do it," Sean breathes. "Is that what you're after?"

Pierce doesn't answer. After a while, Sean sits back up and looks over at Pierce.

"All right. Let's go."

The one comfort Sean can take is that they're not among a tour group. It's only him, Pierce, and the pilot, and Pierce allows Sean a pair of motion sickness tablets before they go up. Sean's mouth is set in a firm line, and the pilot doesn't attempt any small talk. He gives the mandated security speech as the blades start up, and Sean's hand gropes for Pierce's as the helicopter takes off.

It's not that he's never been on a helicopter before; it's only that it never gets any better. Sean is not proud of being so blasted terrified of the thing, but it seems as if he has every reason in the world. It's so goddamned slow at times that he feels as if it's going to fall out of the air; at other times, he thinks it's going so fast nothing could stop it, and they'll end up dashed on a mountaintop or blown out to sea.

He can't orient to anything. Staring at the horizon does no good; the helicopter often feels as if it's traveling down and to the right but appears to be moving up and to the left. It's maddening, and Sean can't get used to it.

His grip on Pierce's hand is a tight one, so tight he has fleeting moments of wondering if Pierce's hand will come through without all his bones ground to powder. When he thinks on it, he tries to ease his grip a bit, to allow Pierce to get the blood flowing again, but then there'll be a twist or a turn and Sean clamps down hard again, desperate for any comfort he can take.

The worst of it, perhaps, is that the views _are_ spectacular. In a book, in a magazine, Sean would be fascinated. He never imagined getting to see waterfalls and mountainsides covered with trees from this height, never expected to see the waves crashing against the shore from so far above that the water appears to be the deepest blue he's ever seen. It's gorgeous, and he'll remember it for the rest of his life.

He'll also remember the sick feeling of terror, and the way it feels to know that Pierce is willing to put him through this kind of misery purely to prove a point. He hasn't been counting minutes, but Pierce gave him his watch hand, and every so often he yanks the watch into his line of sight, checking to see how much time he has left. He's bearing it, but it hasn't been anything that could remotely be considered easy. It's been fucking insane, and the hardest thing he's ever had to do for anyone.

Ninety minutes could just as well be ninety hours, given how they feel to Sean. When the helicopter starts making its way back down to the landing strip, he lets out a long breath. He lets his grip on Pierce's hand ease, and when the helicopter touches down, nearly breaks down in relief.

He's very quiet on the drive back to the hotel, keeping his composure for Pierce's sake. At the hotel, he ignores the elevator, concentrating only on getting back to the room.

And back in the room, he's desperately grateful when Pierce murmurs, "You've got the rest of the day to yourself, lad." He strips out of his clothing, collar too, and goes to take a cold shower, icy droplets hammering into his skin as if to replace the trembling and shaking sensations of fear with those of cold.

It doesn't work. He comes out of the shower just as terrified and sick as he was when he went in. Pierce is waiting for him with a towel, and Sean pushes him away. He dries off, scratching so hard at his skin that he comes away pink, and then heads to the front room, huddled up in the corner of the couch, still undressed.

Pierce brings him his collar, and with more dexterity than Sean gave him credit for, gets it threaded through Sean's arms and around Sean's neck. He clasps it, and then he vanishes, leaving Sean to shake himself to pieces alone.


	18. Generosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierce invites Liam Neeson over to have a look at his boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enormous thank you to [Telesilla](http://archiveofourown.org/users/telesilla) for writing this with me and allowing me to include it in _Sincerity_. I had a blast writing it. This is unchanged from its original edition except for three paragraphs in the beginning that were added to give it a little more consistency within _Sincerity_...

Sean's never said it again. He wouldn't tell Pierce he loves him nowadays, and isn't even sure it's true anymore. Things changed after Kauai. Pierce's neglect seemed more purposeful, somehow, and Sean learned to occupy himself and ignore the boredom a bit better than he had before.

It's been more than a year since then, and Sean's come to terms with one of the things Pierce predicted. _You'll grow to hate me, sooner or later. For bringing you to a certain point and stopping._ It's not hatred, and Sean doesn't think it's ever going to be, but in some ways he's afraid it's worse. It's boredom. Complacency. He's never going to be satisfied this way.

And the worst of it is that this is as good as he can hope for. If being with Pierce has taught him anything, it's that he can't possibly go back to the outside world. If the pain is sparing, if the humiliation is infrequent, at least when he has Pierce's attention he feels like all the pieces are in place.

Pierce has had several things on his mind since the trip to Kauai. Sean is not what he expected, and every day they spend together hammers that point home. Things cannot remain as they are, and yet he's been reluctant to change them.

Forcing himself to acknowledge that reluctance is what gets Pierce moving. He picks up the phone and dials Liam's number from memory. It's been some months since they've spoken, and Liam owes Pierce a favor. Or maybe Pierce owes Liam by now; sometimes it's hard to keep track.

Either way, what Pierce has in mind ought to balance the books. Liam's between boys right now, and Pierce's current lad is a hell of a lot better than simply finding someone to fuck, beat, and use for an evening. And the lad needs another lesson in what Pierce is eventually expecting from him. Pierce would never say this to Liam, of course, but he's damned proud of the way Liam turned out. He might as well show Sean the best example possible of what he's looking for.

 _Bugger,_ Liam thinks when he sees who's calling. "Yeah?" he says tersely as he desperately tries to remember whether he owes Pierce a favor at the moment.

"Lad," Pierce replies. "Have I caught you in the middle of something?" The slightly nasty tone in his voice says he's hoping he did; he knows full well Liam will put most concerns aside to take a phone call from his former Master.

"Was just having a cuppa and a smoke if you really want to know," Liam replies honestly. He knows Pierce likes to interrupt him, but this time he isn't. _Point to me_ , he thinks, taking a drag of his cigarette. "Why'd you call?" His tone is a little brusque but nothing too harsh; he's long since known how far he can push Pierce.

"I thought you'd like to see my lad," Pierce says. "He's a stubborn little bastard, Liam. Been under me some time now and he's still not topping worth a damn. I thought if he saw what I'm expecting out of him..." Pierce sighs. It's sounding more and more like he's going to be the one owing Liam a favor this time.

Liam's smile is audible. "A bit thick is this one, then?" He sips some tea and takes another long drag of his cigarette, making Pierce wait a bit. "What did you have in mind?"

"Come over. Top him. Hurt him, humiliate him... make him cry, if you can. I want him to see what he's supposed to do. I think he likes bottoming a little too much," Pierce adds, a note of disgust creeping into his voice. "Maybe you can snap him out of it."

His lips pursed tight, Liam glares at the phone. "And so you're saying that I'm such a bad top as all that, Pierce?"

"No," Pierce says patiently, "I'm saying if anyone can scare him out of thinking that bottoming's an easy little walk in the park, it's you."

 _Sure and if he's thinking it's an easy walk in the park, shouldn't his master be dealing with that?_ The temptation to say that out loud is strong, but Liam's not really interested in missing a chance to play with Pierce's boy, so he merely chuckles. "No, it's not, and I'd be glad to help you with that problem."

"Fine, then. He's a decent cook; do you want dinner before you deal with him, or after?"

Liam's chuckle is by no means a nice one. "Dinner before; I don't intend to leave your boy capable of cooking."

The chuckle makes Pierce grin. _That's my lad._ "All right. Seven?"

Glancing at his watch, Liam nods. "Yeah, seven's good." He pauses and takes a deep breath. "Do we negotiate now or over dinner where your boy can hear?" He would prefer now, of course; letting Pierce's boy know exactly what Liam's relationship with Pierce is....

 _Like he won't know before you walk in the door, lad_ , Liam reminds himself.

"Sean's been fucked by boys in training before, lad," Pierce scoffs. "He's not going to care that you used to wear a collar for me. But if you'd be squeamish about letting a boy you're about to top know that you once had a master of your own..." Pierce lets his voice trail off, sounding almost theatrically disappointed.

"Ha ha ha," Liam says, his voice devoid of humor. "Tell him what you like, Pierce. Just remember one thing. I'm not your 'lad' any more."

"Whatever you say, Liam," Pierce sighs. He holds a hand out in front of his face and inspects his fingernails, then buffs them against the front of his vest. "We'll see you at seven, then."

"And so," Liam says, before hanging up. _Well, this will be interesting._

* * *

Sean takes a critical look over the table he's set for Pierce's visitor. _Liam Neeson._ Sean shakes his head. _Christ, is there anyone who isn't a part of this world?_

Pierce hasn't said much about Liam; only that he was coming over, and Sean was "at his disposal for the evening". That generally means a beating or a fuck. If he's lucky, it might mean both.

The table looks good; Sean used Pierce's good china and crystal, and the silver is, of course, finely polished. Sean suspects that he'll be criticized all the same, if not for the table setting then for the food itself. He's ready for that, though; it's nothing new.

Pierce walks into the dining room and shakes his head. "You're not dressed," he says.

Sean raises an eyebrow; he's in an oxford shirt and pleated grey trousers.

"You're not dressed for _company_ ," Pierce elaborates, gesturing toward the staircase. "I've laid out your costume for tonight on the bed. Go."

Blinking, Sean heads up the stairs. As soon as he hits the landing, he hears the doorbell. _Fuck._ "Master, should I...?"

"No, go and dress, lad." Pierce is already walking toward the door. "We'll occupy ourselves without you for the time being."

He pulls the door open and gives Liam a bared-teeth grin, inclining his head. "Lad," he says. "You're late."

"You obviously didn't steal 007's watch," Liam replies as he comes in the door. He's always late according to Pierce, and now that he doesn't answer to Pierce, he doesn't care much. "Although I hear you stole his nemesis."

"Is it stealing when the lad puts himself on his knees the first time you meet?" Pierce steps back so Liam can walk inside. "Good to see you again, Liam. My lad will be down in a moment."

"Before he comes down," Liam asks quickly. "What, if anything do I need to know about him. And what, if anything, can I not do to him."

No matter how often he does it, it's hard to stand here in Pierce's house and talk about using Pierce's boys. Liam remembers being one of Pierce's boys and how it felt to be turned over to guests. He hated it as much as he hated everything else that happened here. _Oh yeah, you hated everything, did you, lad?_ Silently, he tells the voice in his head to shut the fuck up.

"He misbehaves," Pierce says. "He'll try misbehaving in order to convince you to punish him. Try not to fall for it. He likes being hurt. As for what you can't do to him..." Pierce shrugs. "Try not to break any bones."

It's more free rein than Pierce usually allows with his boys; a sure sign that Sean's still in the early stages of his time here. Only Sean's been Pierce's for two years. Sean should be making more progress than that.

"All boys misbehave," Liam says casually. He glances at Pierce with something that -- in the right light -- could be read as affection or at least respect. "For whatever reason."

Pierce looks at Liam, then shakes his head, almost laughing. "That they do. In this one's case, it's a classic play for attention." What he doesn't tell Liam is how well it's been paying off. Unfortunately, Liam's likely to figure that out for himself as soon as he gets his hands on Sean.

Upstairs, Sean rolls his eyes at the costume for tonight: black vinyl pants and nothing else. He struggles into them and heads downstairs as fast as he can go without actually looking as though he's hurrying.

By the time he gets downstairs, Pierce has his arms crossed over his chest and is glaring in Sean's direction. Sean goes to his knees in front of Liam and murmurs, "Good evening, Master Liam. May I offer you something to drink?"

"Scotch," Liam replies. "Neat." As Sean moves off, Liam turns to Pierce. "Vinyl, Pierce? That's bloody tacky, it is."

Liam's not surprised to see that Sean is still wearing one of Pierce's blasted ribbon collars. This one's burgundy, and while it looks good against Sean's fair skin, Liam finds himself wondering if Sean hates them as much as Liam did.

"That it is," Pierce says, smirking a bit. "The lad can't stand to be dressed up for show. Thought I'd start him out at something of a disadvantage for you."

Sean comes back with Liam's scotch, a bit later than anticipated -- he had a moment of indecision in the kitchen about whether to bother with the Glenfiddich 1937 or whether Liam would even notice, and ended up bringing out the 30 year old variety instead. He goes to his knees and keeps his eyes lowered to the floor while he offers Liam his drink.

Taking a sip of his scotch, Liam raises an eyebrow at Pierce. "Does deliberate misbehaving include serving the wrong scotch or is this just you getting cheap in your old age?"

Pierce gives Sean a sharp look. "You are deliberately trying to embarrass me, lad," he snaps. "Do you think it's going to get you what you want?"

"Master -- no," Sean says, wincing. "If Master Liam will permit me, I would be happy to bring the right scotch. This slave begs forgiveness, sir." This last is directed to both masters; Sean can't decide which of them to look at.

"Damned easily flustered too," Liam says to Pierce, as he hands his glass to Sean without an order. "How long have you had him, then?"

"A while now," Pierce says, trying to sound casual. Sean starts to stand; Pierce reaches over and tangles his fingers in Sean's hair, holding him still but continuing to ignore him. Sean hisses and puts his eyes on the floor, and Pierce goes on with his conversation.

"He was entirely green when I took him on," Pierce says. "Used to go out to bars looking to be hurt. He's needed more work than most."

By now, Sean's gone quite red in the cheeks; he's glad neither master is expecting eye contact.

"Well Jaysus," Liam says contemptuously after doing the math in his head. "After two _months_ with Gabriel I knew that guests got the best we had." It's possible that Pierce didn't take Sean on during the filming of _Goldeneye,_ but Liam would be surprised if that turned out to the case.

Pierce's fingers twist harder in Sean's hair. "Go and get Liam the '37, lad," he murmurs, then gives Sean a hard shove. "My apologies," Pierce grunts at Liam.

 _Fuck._ Sean knows damn well that boys in this house should not require their masters to apologize on their behalf. He resolves to do better with the rest of the evening, and comes back immediately with the right scotch, kneeling in front of Liam with his head bowed.

Liam sips the scotch and sighs appreciatively, before looking down at Sean. "He should never have to apologize for your mistakes, lad." Without pausing his words, he casually backhands Sean hard. "Makes both of you look bad."

"Sir, this slave is..." Sean's breath is tight in his chest. Immediate cruelty is not the usual domain of the masters Pierce invites to his home, and all of Sean's responses are bound to be wrong. He'd like to offer himself. Kneel. Prostrate himself on the floor and lick Liam's boots.

"This slave is sorry, Master Liam. This slave is at your service. How may I please you?"

Shifting his scotch from hand to hand, Liam shrugs out of his motorcyle jacket. "Do something about this," he says, tossing it down at Sean. He glances at Pierce, asking without words if Pierce wants to take over here.

Sean picks up Liam's jacket and nods, opening the closet and hanging it up neatly. Liam's jacket smells of scotch and cigarettes and leather, and Sean lets his breath out softly between his teeth. He'd like that scent all over him.

Pierce ushers Liam through the foyer into the dining room, as if Liam might have forgotten the way after all this time. Sean catches up a few moments later, and Pierce snaps his fingers to send Sean scurrying into the kitchen.

Sean comes back out with pepper-crusted steak and herbed potatoes for Liam and Pierce; his own food is the leftover bits from preparation that weren't quite good enough to make it onto either master's plate, and it's in a steel bowl at the side of Pierce's chair. At least he was allowed a pillow this time; it won't be so hard being on his knees. Still, he'll be within easy reach of both Liam and Pierce. That's not going to make eating from a bowl on the floor any easier.

Every time Liam comes to see Pierce he is inundated with memories, and seeing Sean eat from a bowl is just one more jarring reminder that he was once there. He glances at Pierce as he works on his steak; his former Master seems a little put out, and while Liam can't help but be pleased by that, he experiences a moment of anxiety. _Relax, you idiot. When this is over, you walk out of here and that's a good thing._

"Not bad," he says, indicating his plate.

"This slave is grateful Master Liam approves," Sean mumbles from his place on the floor.

"I don't think he went quite that far," Pierce says, nudging Sean with his foot. "But it's not a poor effort. Unlike much of what you've been doing tonight."

Sean looks as if he's trying to disappear into the floor. He should be used to this -- he _is_ used to this -- but it's still hard to take. "I'm sorry, Master."

Liam says nothing, content to eat in silence. If Sean hasn't already figured out that he can't win tonight, he's an idiot. And that move with the scotch already proved to Liam that Sean is no idiot.

The rest of the dinner passes with a minimum of conversation; the only times Pierce speaks are to tell Sean to fetch something in particular from the kitchen. Sean knows enough to keep his mouth shut. When he's done eating, though, he comes up on his heels and watches Liam, trying not to get caught at it.

Liam finishes his meal and then looks at Sean. "More scotch and be naked when you bring it." He knows damn well Sean's been watching him, and it gives him a pleasant feeling. _Pierce must already be regretting this_ , he thinks, which gives him an even more pleasant feeling.

"You still have that rope cat?" he asks Pierce as he gets up from the table.

Sean nods to Liam and disappears through the door to the kitchen. Pierce notices that his lad misses a step when Liam mentions the rope cat, and he sits back, trailing a fingertip over the rim of his wineglass. He doesn't look up at Liam, and doesn't look toward the kitchen. Things are moving faster than he anticipated, and now there's no way to stop it. The best he can do is hold on to his composure and hope neither former nor current lad notices how much he's squirming.

"You know where it is, if you want it," Pierce murmurs. "Or do I send the lad for it?"

"No, I was going to send you," Liam snaps. "Of course the lad goes for it; I won't help myself to your things unless offered."

The implication in that sentence nearly makes Pierce snarl. _This was my idea_ , he reminds himself, _and the lad needs it._

When Sean comes back out of the kitchen, he's bare to the skin, and he goes to his knees in front of Liam with a bit more ease than he did in the vinyl pants. His head's lowered, and his eyelashes fall over his cheeks in a way that Pierce finds both irritating and seductive. _Make one more wrong move, lad, and you'll be sorry._

Taking the scotch from Sean, Liam looks over at Pierce. "You going to join us?" Before Pierce can answer, Liam looks back down at Sean, noticing Sean's erection. "An eager lad, I like that."

"Lad, there's a rope cat in the fourth drawer of the dresser by the door. Go and get it. And for Christ's sake, Sean, stop blushing."

"Yes, Master," Sean mumbles; it's to the order about the cat, not the order about blushing, because the flush that's been threatening to creep up his chest is fully in place now, and he doesn't know how to stop it.

Pierce watches Sean go and shakes his head. At this point, he doesn't even care that Liam will notice the expression on his face. This was a bad idea, and he wants the night over with. _My lad had damned well better learn something from all this._

"Stop blushing?" Liam says, moving toward the living room. "That's fucking evil of you, Pierce; I see you haven't lost your touch."

 _Or have you? You don't want me here, and it's more than just being uncomfortable because you think your lad is flawed._

Pierce goes into the living room with Liam and takes his usual seat in the master's armchair. "No," he murmurs. "I haven't lost my touch, Liam." He flicks his eyes up to his former boy, taking him in with the same calculating stare he levied in Liam's direction so often in their days together. "This one's difficult to scare," he says quietly. "Do whatever it takes."

The words reach Sean when he's just outside the living room, and he closes his eyes. _If you want me scared, Master, you could simply say so._ He takes to hands and knees and grips the handle of the cat in his teeth, then crawls into the living room and takes up a spot by the stone coffee table.

Liam wonders if Pierce knows how much it takes to appear unintimidated by that look. _Probably does, the bastard._ "Thank you," he says inclining his head. "I like a free rein."

When Sean comes in, Liam turns and looks at him for a long moment. "Your posture's a bit poor, isn't it lad?"

Sean shifts a bit uncomfortably, trying to straighten his spine without looking overly stiff. "This slave apologizes, Master Liam."

"You seem to do a lot of that," Liam replies, holding out his hand for the cat. When Sean gives it to him, Liam nods. "Stand up, lad, and let me look you over." He has to hide a smile as Sean stands up; although Pierce is not a short man by any means, Liam's taller, and Sean's probably not used to being loomed over like this.

Sean comes to his feet, desperately trying to keep himself from flinching away from Liam. Liam's so close that Sean can smell him. He has a feeling that the scent of scotch on someone's breath is going to remind him of Liam for a long time to come, and wonders if it'll always get him this hard. Despite Pierce's order, Sean is still blushing.

Reaching out, Liam brushes Sean's ribbon collar with his fingers. "You haven't even earned leather yet? Jaysus, lad, but what good are you?"

Sean's eyes flick immediately over to Pierce. The statement doesn't make any sense; he's seen boys with leather collars before, but Pierce has never taunted him with the idea of earning leather in particular.

 _I'd hate it_ , he realizes. _The ribbon's bad enough, but leather..._

When Pierce doesn't look back at him, though, Sean's attention comes to Liam all over again. The brush of fingers over his neck is enough to get his attention and make his breathing stutter. He does his best to keep his reaction under control.

 _Oh interesting_ , Liam thinks, curving his fingers around Sean's throat a little. "I asked what you were good for," he says aloud, his tone a little menacing.

Sean chokes a little, startled by both the sensation and the criticism. He'd been certain Liam's question was rhetorical, and now with Liam's hand making a more serious claim on Sean's throat, he's not sure he can answer. "I don't know, Master Liam," Sean whispers.

Leaving his hand on Sean's throat, Liam reaches up with his other hand and slaps Sean, hard. "So you're telling me that you're useless?"

Sean's face snaps to the side, and he keeps his eyes closed for a moment. He turns back to look at Liam, pressing his throat firmly against Liam's fingers. "No, Sir. I'm saying I don't know my place."

Some masters would simply chain Sean up and ignore him for behavior like this. In fact, if Sean were his boy, that's exactly what Liam would do. But Sean's not his boy, and Liam's here to have fun.

"Then I'll be showing it to you, lad," he says, his brogue thickening. He squeezes very lightly on Sean's throat and then backs away and moves to the side of Sean, kicking out at the back of Sean's knee carefully with his booted foot.

Sean goes down to his knees, falling forward and catching himself on his hands. He scrambles back into a kneel as fast as he can, spreading his knees apart and looking back up at Liam with very bright eyes.

Pierce lets his chin sink into the palm of his hand, and his eyes narrow. Neither Liam nor Sean is paying attention to him, which is as it should be. But Pierce is gritting his teeth to keep from saying anything, which is _not_ as it should be. Not at all.

"Don't think you're fooling either myself or your master here," Liam says with a grin. He looks at Sean and then at the big coffee table. "Up on the table, lad. knees and elbows, head down." His fingers tighten on the handle of the cat as he remembers being up on that same table, feeling graceless and huge.

Sean comes up on the table, knees and forearms, head down on the surface of the stone. It's cold, and the surface is too slick to offer any friction. Sean feels exposed, and he's blushing from waist to hairline now. This is, by leaps and bounds, the best he's felt in months.

"Please, Master Liam," Sean whispers, "this slave begs you to hurt him."

As Liam moves into position, he chuckles rather unpleasantly. "I wonder how soon it'll be, lad, before you're begging me to stop." And with that he begins, no warm up, no warning, just a sound thrashing of Sean's upper back with the heavy stiff rope cat.

Sean would clutch at the table, if there were anything to clutch at. He forces himself not to go stiff, and ends up hissing and sucking in air hard between his teeth. This is rougher than he's accustomed to, faster than he's been beaten before, and it's almost past what he wants. He closes his eyes and breathes, getting the air into a rhythm. _In. Take the pain. Breathe out._

"Thank you -- Master -- Liam," Sean grunts. _Beg him to stop. We'll see about that._

"He has some manners at least," Liam says over his shoulder to Pierce as he keeps working on Sean's back. "And he marks up nicely. I assume that's why you haven't tossed him out on his worthless arse?"

As if the word made him think about it, he moves the cat down to Sean's arse, still going at it hard, but not full strength. He'll keep that in reserve, because he is damned well determined to see this stubborn man in tears begging for the beating to stop.

The strokes of the cat against Sean's arse are brutal, and he's given up on the idea of keeping silent. Instead, he's letting out harsh, forced grunts, and is desperately trying to keep from moving away from the blows.

"Ah, that's grand," Liam says, his voice as rough as the rope he's using. "Sing for me, lad." He steps up the strength of the blows and moves back up to Sean's upper back, enjoying the way Sean's pale skin is already red and abraded. _Wonder if Pierce'll call a halt if I make the lad bleed._

It's not easy letting out sound when he's been trained to cut off as much of his noises as he possibly can. Sean grunts again, his teeth coming unclenched, and then lets out an almost hesitant moan with the next stroke of the cat.

"That's a good lad," Liam encourages. "Show me how good you can be; show your master how good you can be." He's working at full strength now, moving rapidly into that place where he feels he can do this forever.

The praise hurts almost as much as the blows do, getting Sean distracted enough that he stops thinking about holding back and simply gives Liam his voice, making sharp, gasping cries in time with the blows from the cat. The praise stings until Sean realizes it's not meant to hurt him; Liam means it. And then everything crystallizes for him. He closes his eyes and keeps giving Liam the sounds he demanded, louder ones now, more focused, more confident.

It's been a long time since he's had access to a boy this strong and this accustomed to pain, and Liam is in his element now. Knowing that it will hurt more if he gives Sean's back a rest and comes back to it later, he moves back down to Sean's arse, his arm never ceasing the hard punishing blows. _This boy_ , he suddenly realizes, _is wasted on Pierce_. He wonders if either of them know it.

The throb in Sean's back is almost as bad as the beating Liam's giving his arse, and he suspects Liam isn't nearly through here. His eyes shut hard, and he can feel something breaking loose inside him. It's a hard feeling in the center of his chest, and he realizes as it begins to slip out that letting it out could get him in serious trouble with Pierce.

 _Hold back. Don't let this out. You're in far enough as it is._

"Stubborn lad you have here, Pierce," Liam says, pausing. He really is impressed; Sean takes pain as well as ... well as well as Liam does himself. As always, thinking about his own unfulfilled needs angers the big man, and he glares down at Sean. "I want you on your back now."

Grateful for the pause, even though it means his back's going to be pressed up hard against the damned cold stone, Sean nods. His throat's locked up too hard to speak, so he simply turns over, hissing as the reddened skin of his arse and back meet the surface of the coffee table.

"Manners, lad," Pierce reprimands; the tone in his voice is impossible to read.

 _Fuck._ Sean blinks several times, hard, and whispers out, "This slave thanks Master Liam for the pain." And he blinks again, harder still, hoping like hell the tears don't start falling. _Pierce will kill you if you cry for Master Liam. Don't even fucking think about it._

"Glad you like it, lad," Liam replies. "There's a lot more where that came from." He swings, catching Sean across the chest, one strand of rope digging into one of Sean's nipples. It's not as hard as he was managing on Sean's back, but it doesn't have to be.

Startled, Sean's hands reach out for something to grasp. The edges of the table are sharp, but they'll do. They'll have to. Sean won't be able to keep still against this kind of pain without something to cling to. He clenches his jaw again, and if tears come now they'll be acceptable.

 _Close,_ Liam thinks, _he's getting close to tears._ Each blow is deliberate now, carefully placed to do maximum damage, and every single time the cat lands on Sean, at least one end catches a nipple. _Jaysus, but he's strong._

Sean's teeth unclench, and his eyes close. "Please," he whispers, and for all that he's being hurt, for all that Liam's giving him, the word comes out with a fair amount of strength behind it. It takes another few breaths before he can get anything else out, but when he does, the words are just as clear. "Please stop."

"No," Liam says flatly. "Put your hands over your tackle, lad, and spread your legs." When Sean obeys, Liam moves onto his thighs, catching the sensitive skin of Sean's inner thighs. "And fucking sing for me."

Sharp, hitching breaths are the first thing Sean lets out, and the weight of his hands over the sensitive skin of his cock and balls isn't making this any easier. The pain on his inner thighs is brilliant, and he arches his throat, moaning. "Please -- Master Liam," Sean pants out, "oh, God, yes, please..."

"He said _sing,_ lad, not _babble,"_ Pierce spits out. "If he wants words, he'll tell you what they are."

Liam almost turns and snaps at Pierce; Sean's giving him exactly what he wants. Fortunately, his better judgment prevails, and he bears down harder, reaching for the scream he knows he can get from Sean.

Sean bites down hard on his lower lip, trying not to beg. He looks up at Liam, eyes pleading, and then the pain is too much for him, and he's letting out gasps again, harsh angry sounds that spill over his lips, and there's no way for him to stop them. It's not quite screaming, but the groans are loud, full-throated, and every one of them is a plea for something. _More. Harder. Stop. Please._

"Just a little more lad, give me just a little more," Liam demands harshly, alternating now between Sean's thighs and chest. Dimly he's aware of a sense of pride, he hasn't caught Sean's hands once yet, but mostly he's caught up in the red haze that comes when he's hurting someone to the very limits of their pain threshold.

The unexpected blows on his chest are too much, and Sean ends up gasping, tears spilling over faster than he can get them to stop. "Please," he grunts, and Pierce be damned, he has to beg now, "please, enough, please stop."

Liam has what is almost a tradition, something he picked up from Gabriel. Slaves need to know that they can't end a scene, and so begging for a stop always earns you at least one more blow. That last blow is delivered at full strength on Sean's thighs, and after it's delivered, Liam is pleased to see small drops of blood where the rough rope has broken skin.

Sean does scream at that, one long hoarse scream that seems to come from every inch of his body. When it's over, he nearly collapses, panting until his breath seems to catch, if only just a little.

"This slave... thanks Master... Liam... for the pain," Sean offers, in quiet, broken cadence under shaking breaths.

Moving back to sit in one of the big armchairs near the coffee table, Liam stretches his legs out and looks at Sean. "Is that the only way you know how to thank a person?"

Sean struggles to sit up, choking back a cry when his weight is resting on his arse. He drags the back of his hand over his face to brush away tears, and then comes to forearms and knees in front of Liam. "No, Master Liam, this slave is sorry." He presses his lips to the toe of Liam's boot and murmurs, "This slave thanks Master Liam for the pain."

 _Jaysus he's lovely!_ Liam thinks. _And Pierce is neglecting him because he's not toppy. My former master is an idiot._

"Good lad, keep on with it.

 _Keep on with...?_ Sean hesitates, then offers another small kiss to the toe of Liam's other boot.

"I want them clean, lad," Liam says, nudging Sean's chin with the toe of his boot. "Every part you can reach with your tongue."

 _Jaysus, Pierce, you haven't taught him this either?_ Once more Liam suppresses the thought, but he can't help shooting Pierce a quick look of scorn.

Pierce is barely watching now; his eyes are so narrowed they're only slits set into his face. He doesn't respond to Liam's look, despite the fact that he could easily come up with a number of quips that would stop those arrogant little glances in their tracks.

Sean's tongue flicks out and tracks over a spare inch of leather. He settles himself a bit more firmly on the carpet and begins taking longer, broader licks, tasting the faint trace of dirt on Liam's boots, the barest hint of oil. His path takes him to Liam's ankle and back, and he moans as his licks pick up speed. There's something quietly humiliating about this, and he's so hard he could come with an order or a touch.

Sean's eager little moan is intoxicating, and Liam resists the urge to reach down and stroke himself off. He wasn't intially sure if he wants to have Sean suck him off or if he wants to fuck him, but as Sean moves to his second boot, the idea of fucking him is looking better and better.

Somehow doing the second boot is easier than the first, and Sean's licks turn hungry, small moans escaping him as he strokes the leather with his tongue, getting every inch of it polished and clean for Liam.

"Good lad," Liam says, "Such an eager slut." He doubts Sean gets much praise from Pierce, and he suddenly realizes that he wants Sean to miss him. _Want him lying awake nights knowing there's something better out there than Pierce Brosnan._

It still hurts a bit, hearing praise, and Sean has to remind himself that Liam's not using twisted words to get a reaction from him. "Please," he breathes, "this slave is eager, yes, Master Liam, and wants to please you very badly."

Sean's not stupid. He's known what Pierce wants from him, and he knows Liam's here as another example of what Sean could be, if he wanted. Every time Pierce hurts him, Sean can see irritation in his eyes. Frustration that Sean isn't turning out to be what Pierce wants.

But Liam... Liam's willing to take what Sean's offering just because he _wants_ it. And that's something Sean will have a hard time forgetting.

"So you've remembered your place then, have you, lad?" Liam asks. Before Sean can answer, he goes on. "And just how eager are you? Are you prepped?" He holds up a condom. "Are you enough of a whore that you've managed the knack of putting one of these on a man without using your hands?"

"Pierce -- my Master," Sean corrects himself immediately, wincing, "doesn't have me walk around prepped, no, Sir. He'd rather see me unprepared and hurting, Sir. The condom, though, yes, Sir, I'm able, if Master Liam permits me the privilege." Sean hasn't done it in years, not since before Pierce, but he was enough of a whore to know that trick once. He thinks he can remember.

Liam has his jeans halfway unbuttoned when he catches Sean's mistake. He reaches out and slaps Sean hard enough to rock the other man. "You get over there and apologize to your master and take whatever punishment he offers."

 _And if you messed up my chances of having your arse, lad, I will have you again and make you regret this._

Sean cringes. Pierce didn't correct him immediately; he assumed that meant he was going to get off easy this time. Pierce would have done something to him after Liam left, and it probably would have been degrading and painful, but now it's going to be that much worse. He goes to his hands and knees and crawls over to Pierce, putting his head at Pierce's feet. "This slave apologizes for his error, Master, and begs your correction."

"Kneel up, lad," Pierce murmurs. When Sean does, Pierce slides fingers into his hair and jerks back hard. "What did you think _that_ was going to earn you? More pain? More humiliation? Hm?"

"I'm sorry, Master--"

"It's not as if I was ever going to be proud of you. We know that much, you and I." Pierce gives his head another rough shake. "But I'd hoped you wouldn't embarrass me to this extent." _Not in front of Liam_ , Pierce thinks. He shoves Sean back and lets him go completely, then looks up at Liam. "You do what you want with him, barring that he doesn't come tonight. And lad, you've just lost my eyes for the night. And my protection. You're on your own."

Pierce stands up and heads out of the room, pausing at the doorway. "Lad?" he murmurs over his shoulder. "I'll want to see you before you go."

Liam bows his head but doesn't hide the smirk. _Don't want to see your lad enjoying my prick up his arse, do you, Pierce?_ He glares down at Sean, angry at the man for losing him his audience. _Not to come, eh? We'll see about that._

"Get the damned rubber on me," he snarls, "and then drape yourself over the back of the sofa. I was going to have you on my lap, but you don't deserve intimacy like that."

Sean tears the packet open and slips the condom in his mouth, tasting lube and wincing. He comes up, settling both hands on Liam's hips, and puts his mouth over Liam's cock, slowly rolling the latex over him until he has to use his mouth to roll down the rest.

After he's done, he walks behind the sofa and bends over it, bracing both hands on the cushions. Before he wasn't afraid of anything Liam might do to him; Liam might be bigger and rougher than Pierce, but Pierce was there to keep an eye on him. Now that layer of protection's gone, and Sean doesn't know Liam at all; he doesn't have any idea what Liam's going to do to him.

"You don't deserve what little finesse I usually bother bringing to bear when fucking a lad," Liam says as he shoves into Sean with one hard thrust. This dry it almost hurts, and he winces, not so much because of the pain, more because of his enjoyment of it.

Sean's teeth clench together hard, and he fists his hands in the cushions of the couch. He's not going to scream again, not yet. But _fuck,_ Liam's bigger than Sean's taken in a long time, and he's being rough enough to make Sean worry that he's going to tear. The press of the couch and Liam's thighs against his raw skin isn't making matters any easier. _Don't scream. Don't fucking scream._

"You think you can make it, lad," Liam asks as he begins fucking Sean hard. "You think you can do what your master told you to do? Or are you going to disappoint him one more time?"

"I can..." Sean grits his teeth again and forces out the words. "I can do as ordered, Master Liam."

"That, lad, is what you think," Liam growls. After beating Sean as he did, he's already pretty close himself, but he's damned if he'll come before Sean does. _Fortunately I have a solution to the problem._ Grinning tightly he reaches around, not to stroke Sean's cock, but to wrap his hand around Sean's neck, letting it rest there without any pressure.

Startled, Sean struggles under Liam's hand. The press of his skin against Sean's throat is light, but not light enough; the touch is enough to make Sean dizzy with the possible promise of it, and he feels the ache of arousal pulse through him. "No," he whispers. His hands clench into fists, and he tries to steady his breathing. "Please."

"You," Liam says, his voice harsh, "don't get to say 'no.'" As he continues to pound into Sean, he tightens his hand carefully.

 _No -- please_, Sean thinks, but he can barely breathe now that Liam's hand is starting to tighten. He moans, biting down on his lips hard enough to taste blood, and he can feel himself falling over the edge. Nowhere to turn. Nothing to be done.

He presses his throat hard against Liam's hand. _If I'm damned anyway, I want his fingerprints on my skin..._ His breath cuts off, then, and he jerks and strains against Liam as he comes, staining the back of Pierce's couch and biting his lower lip hard.

With a triumphant growl that could almost be called a roar, Liam comes, pushed over the edge more by Sean's unwilling orgasm than by anything else. His hand tightens on Sean's throat just a little more and then falls away as he slumps over Sean for a moment, still a little stunned by the strength of his climax.

Perhaps that's why he feels some sort of ... not exactly tenderness, but kinship, most certainly, with the man beneath him. "If you want to please him," he says very softly, "become what I've become. If you can't ... Jaysus lad, find yerself another Master."

Sean stays silent, but he nods once. He draws Liam's hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to his palm. "This slave thanks Master Liam for the lesson," he whispers.

 _But you won't take it to heart, will you, lad?_ Liam thinks, as he slowly stands up and pulls away from Sean. _You love the prick and that'll be your downfall._ He thinks about the odd way Pierce was acting and has to hold back a laugh. _Worse is that he has some sort of feelings for you, stupid bugger._

For a moment, Liam is terribly tempted to negotiate with Pierce for Sean. Surely Pierce is aware that Sean will never be the kind of boy Pierce wants; the kind that earns his leathers and goes on to own other boys. But no, Liam's own restlessness, the desires he pretends don't exist, would lead him to look for the same thing Pierce looks for in Sean, if for massively different reasons.

So he pats Sean on the head before disposing of the condom and putting his clothes back in order. "You'd best clean up your mess, lad," he says, the fleeting moment of tenderness now gone. He glances at the stairs and then heads toward them with a very familiar feeling of anxiety.

Sean closes his eyes for a moment, drawing up strength. Pierce gave him an order, and he failed it badly. Liam playing unfair or not, the ultimate responsibility for coming is still Sean's, and he's going to have to explain to Pierce what happened.

"If Master Liam will wait here, please, this slave will let him know you're done with me," Sean murmurs.

He heads upstairs to the study and pauses outside the door, then crawls inside. The endorphins are starting to wear off, and every move he takes makes his skin feel tight and raw. In the morning, he'll be nearly too stiff to move. It feels good, though; it feels as if he's earned it.

The room is dark apart from the glow of Pierce's computer screen, and Sean comes up beside Pierce and puts his head on Pierce's knee. Pierce slides fingers into Sean's hair and lets him remain there for a moment. After a while, he tightens his grip and pulls Sean's face back so he can look into Sean's eyes.

"Well, lad?" Pierce asks.

"Master Liam's done with me," Sean whispers. "He's waiting for you, Master."

"Mm." Pierce rubs a fingertip over Sean's swollen lower lip, and Sean winces. "Him or you?" Pierce asks.

"Me, Master."

"Kneel up, and get your hands behind your back."

Sean crawls back a few steps and laces his fingers behind his back. Pierce runs his fingertips down Sean's chest, making Sean shiver and hiss as his fingers touch Sean's raw skin. "He's still good with a cat," Pierce murmurs. "He could never take one quite the way you can, though."

Uncertain whether that's meant to be a compliment or not, Sean remains silent.

Pierce continues his exploration of Sean's body, and when he reaches Sean's cock, his gaze flicks up to Sean's face. He's frowning hard, and Sean meets his look with only a small amount of nervousness. "And this?" Pierce asks quietly.

"I'm sorry, Master," Sean whispers.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You've embarrassed me enough tonight." Pierce shakes his head. "Stay here until I come back for you."

"Yes, Master."

Pierce leaves the study, each of his steps angry. He walks down the steps, seeking out Liam's eyes and glaring as he goes. "Disobedient boy," Pierce drawls as he reaches the landing.

"Yes, a pity that," Liam says, doing his level best to hide his nervousness. "How was I to know that if I put my hand up to his throat he'd be unable to help coming?"

"I wasn't only meaning _him,"_ Pierce says evenly. "And you'd never have made it out of this house if you missed details like that one, lad. The order was on your head the same as it was on him. You're going to owe me for that one."

"You seem to be forgetting something here," Liam replies. "As you mentioned, I left this house. I owe you my respect, but not my obedience." He pauses, taking a deep breath. "And, respectfully, sir, may I remind you that _you_ asked _me_ here. If you think I owe you something...." He lets his voice trail off, knowing he's treading on thin ice here.

Pierce reaches out and grips Liam's jaw in one hand, fingers biting into the soft flesh there. "I gave you the use of my lad and you overstepped your place in my home, _Liam._ You can make it up to me now, on your knees, or you can owe me a favor for letting you walk out of here tonight." His eyes are dark, cruel, angry. His voice lowers as he continues, "And you're just like he is. You'd like kneeling, wouldn't you?" He shakes his head. "Pathetic."

To his shame, Liam knows that if he could get hard again this fast, he would be. And even despite the lack of physical arousal, he still wants to kneel. _It's been so fucking long...._

"And you owe me a favor for coming here in the first place so I'd say we were even," he replies, proud of how steady his voice is.

 _Even._ Pierce's eyes narrow at the word, and he tugs Liam forward, putting his lips at Liam's ear.

"You're still my boy," he murmurs, "because you still want to be _someone's_ boy. If you want to fool yourself into believing we're even, then you go home tonight and you drink yourself to sleep the way you did when you lived here. But you make no mistake about this, Liam: I can put you on your knees the next time I see you. Not because you owe me a favor, but because that's where you want to be."

Pierce pulls back all at once and gives Liam a disgusted look. "You did well enough with him that I thought this urge of yours had passed. You disappoint me, lad. But that's not new."

If Pierce had just stayed close a moment longer, Liam would have been fine. But, as his former master looks at him, Liam knows that his longing can be read on his face. He can't say anything, can't bluster, or apologize, or even beg. And so, hating himself even as he does it, he simply lowers his eyes and goes still.

Pierce takes his eyes away from Liam. "Get out of here," he says, shaking his head. "I don't have the energy to give you the beating you want right now, and later you'll be glad I didn't."

Liam's eyes snap up at that, and he glares at Pierce. "I don't owe you a damned thing for tonight, Pierce." Fuming, he turns to leave, pulling his jacket from the hall closet. _Bloody sodding bastard ... fucking took me there and then refused?_

Pierce says nothing. He waits for Liam to finish gathering his things, and doesn't so much as offer to get the door for him. Liam knows the way out.

Liam pauses at the door and looks back. "That boy will never make you happy," he says, his hand on the door. "In the end he'll disappoint you more than I ever did. Sir." And with that he's gone.

With Liam's back turned to him, it's safe to watch him again. Pierce keeps his eyes narrowed as Liam leaves, and sits down heavily at the foot of the stairs when the door closes.


	19. Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierce has never been quite this honest with Sean. Sean does not want to be quite this honest with himself.

Breakfast the morning after Liam's visit is uncomfortable, and not only physically. Sean takes his usual place next to Pierce and settles onto his knees, moaning softly as his skin stretches. He looks up at Pierce, but Pierce's eyes are focused on his breakfast.

"You don't look at me today," Pierce murmurs.

If he'd reached out to slap Sean across the face, it would have hurt less. Sean nods and looks down at the floor, eyes stinging.

"Get undressed."

Sean's almost grateful for the order; even the soft cotton pants he was wearing felt heavy and abrasive against the marks on his thighs and arse. And there's the possibility he'll get something more -- he's got Pierce's attention, at least. He's hard by the time he gets back into position, hands turned up on his knees.

Pierce finishes his food in silence, and Sean hears the scrape of his chair across the floor and the clink of dishes as he takes them to the kitchen. When Pierce comes back, he threads his fingers into Sean's hair and tugs back sharply. Sean has to close his eyes to keep from settling them on Pierce; his head's tilted back so far that he'd be looking into Pierce's eyes if his own were open.

"Who do you belong to, boy?" Pierce asks.

"You, Master." Sean swallows hard. "I'm yours."

Sean can feel Pierce lowering himself into a crouch behind him. Pierce's hand glides over Sean's chest, making Sean hiss as his hand traces the welts Liam left. His hand slides between Sean's legs, curling around his cock.

"And this," Pierce murmurs. "Who does this belong to?"

"You, Master," Sean says. "Please--" It's taking a great deal of effort not to thrust up into Pierce's hand.

Pierce's grip tightens until there's nothing pleasant about it, and if Sean could drop his head forward, he would. "Please," he begs again, "Master, please--"

"Did you like being under Liam?" Pierce asks softly. "Did you enjoy the feel of his hands on you?"

There's no right answer. Sean breathes out, trying not to shake.

Pierce trails his fingers back up the center of Sean's chest, trailing his fingertips over Sean's neck. "Did you like it when he put his hand on your throat?" he whispers.

The noise Sean lets out is startled and desperate; he starts groping for something to think of to get his mind off the implied threat behind Pierce's fingers. Wordsworth. He's doing a radio documentary on Wordsworth and Coleridge next month, and he's been memorizing poetry as a way of keeping himself occupied. _Affections lose their object..._

Pierce's hand comes away from Sean's neck, and he pushes Sean forward, all at once. Sean catches himself on his hands. _Time brings forth no successors_...

"What's my lad thinking?" Pierce asks. He slides fingers down into the cleft of Sean's arse and presses in lightly, making Sean wince -- he's still sore from Liam, and the press of dry fingers hurts. "Get it into _words_ , lad."

" _\--and, lodged in memory, / If love exist no longer, it must die,--_ " Sean blurts out.

Pierce goes still behind him. With the words started, with no order given to stop, Sean keeps going: " _Wanting accustomed food, must pass from earth, / Or never hope to reach a second birth._ "

"Get up," Pierce growls. "Get on your _feet_. Now."

Sean climbs up and stares straight ahead, eyes planted on the wall across the room. Pierce walks around him, slowly, and takes up a spot in front of him. Sean lowers his eyes immediately, and Pierce grasps his chin in one hand, fingers curling into his jawbone and squeezing hard.

"You will never be what I want from you," Pierce whispers. "Have you not figured that out yet, lad?"

"I think I must have, Master," Sean whispers back. "Have you?"

The grip on Sean's jaw disappears, and Pierce slaps him hard, once, then again, and the third time, Sean stays rocked to the side, panting, eyes squeezed shut.

"I should leave you here," Pierce murmurs. "Chain you to the cabinets and leave you. Send someone to check on you and let him have free rein with what to do with you. Feed you if you earn it. Fuck you raw. Piss on you and leave you to smell it overnight. Cut you. Burn you. Leave you bruised and bleeding without a word or a thought of aftercare."

"And you won't," Sean breathes. He turns back to Pierce, and meets his eyes. "It was bad enough for you knowing I was under Liam, wasn't it? Was it envy, I wonder?" And his chest tightens, his eyes sting, and he reaches out, knowing just how badly he'll pay for it later. "Or do you love me back, Master?"

Pierce's hand snakes out, and he takes Sean by the back of his neck, dragging him forward and crushing his lips to Sean's. Sean's hands go up to grip Pierce's shoulders, and he moans into the kiss, offering everything he can. Pierce's lips slide down Sean's neck, and Sean trails his fingers up into Pierce's hair. "Please," he whispers, "Master, please--" It's never hurt so badly to beg for something. Maybe he's never been put in a position where he was begging for something he wanted this much. The words are agony, and Pierce isn't answering him.

Pierce shoves Sean to his back over the center of the dining room table, and pins him there by the shoulder. His eyes meet Sean's, and he scratches a path down Sean's side, fingernails tearing into flesh.

"Master--" Sean gets out, and shivers. Pierce's eyes are so cold Sean can hardly stand to look at them. "Please," he whispers. "Master, all that I am--"

"Hush," Pierce whispers, and presses fingers over Sean's lips. His hand comes down, thumb trailing over the center of Sean's throat, and Sean moans, arching up. "Wordsworth," he murmurs.

"Yes, Master."

"Wordsworth," Pierce repeats. And he has quotes of his own.

 _"YES! thou art fair, yet be not moved  
            To scorn the declaration,  
          That sometimes I in thee have loved  
            My fancy's own creation."_

Almost. Sean closes his eyes. It's so close to what he's wanted, and so far away, and Sean knows the last stanza of the poem. He offers it, quietly, wondering what happens next.

 _"Be pleased that nature made thee fit  
            To feed my heart's devotion,  
          By laws to which all Forms submit  
            In sky, air, earth, and ocean."  
_  
Pierce draws back and looks down at Sean, drawing both hands down to his hips, pinning him down. "It doesn't matter," he says softly. "You have figured that out by now?"

"It could matter very much, Master, if you'd let it."

"You could be under anyone and it wouldn't matter," Pierce says. "Liam. The many boys and masters I've brought home for you. A stranger at a bar. As long as you're being hurt and humiliated, you'd love anyone. Cherish anything you're given. You, lad, are not particularly selective about what you want."

Sean shoves up on his elbows, eyes narrowing to slits. "That's not true--"

"Can you prove it?"

Sean goes silent.

"Can you prove it, lad?" Pierce repeats.

Sean looks away. "It's different with you," he murmurs. "It gets me further."

"You're imagining things," Pierce scoffs. "I could send you out to be hurt by the first man who asks for you and you'd come away from it feeling sated."

"And you?" Sean asks quietly. "Would just any submissive satisfy you, then?"

Pierce laughs, shaking his head. "You don't know me at all," he murmurs.

"You don't make it easy."

"No." Pierce takes his hands from Sean's hips and slides them into his hair, turning his head so Sean has to close his eyes or look at Pierce. Sean chooses to close his eyes. "Where would the mystery be? The infatuation? What would you do if you had me figured out, lad?"

Sean tries to pull away, but doesn't manage it. He doesn't know the answer. He never knows the answer.

"When you're healed," Pierce decides. "When your skin's unmarked and you're nearly mad for the feel of my hands on you, I'm sending you out."

Sean's eyes do open at that, and he frowns. "What are you trying to prove?" he whispers.

"Just what I told you. That I could be anyone. That it's pointless to bother loving me, because you don't need that emotion to get you where you're going." Pierce draws his thumbs over Sean's cheeks and leans in close, brushing his lips across Sean's. "That it won't _bother_ me knowing you're taking marks from someone else. That I don't feel envy, or love, or regret. Not when it comes to you." The gentle kisses don't stop as Pierce talks; words war with the sensation, and Sean goes rigid under Pierce's hands, unable to process both at once.

"Master..."

"Hush, lad."

Pierce levers Sean back on the table, setting him flat on his back. He doesn't say anything, but Sean knows he's been ordered to keep still. Pierce disappears for a moment, and comes back with lube; he slides two fingers into Sean, absurdly gentle ones. Sean's eyes open and focus on the ceiling, unblinking.

"I can hurt you," Pierce whispers, and his fingers twist hard, making Sean's fingers dig for purchase on the table, "or please you," and he rubs over that spot, making sparks fire behind Sean's eyes, "and I don't have to feel a blasted _thing_ about you to do it." Pierce rests the head of his cock against Sean's arse and waits. Sean's breathing doesn't steady; it comes into his chest in sharp, ragged motions, despite his attempts to even it. "I can make you want it more than you can imagine. I can bring the heat up in your blood even when you're fighting every moment of it."

Sean's eyes squeeze shut. "Not like this," he whispers. "Please." The gentle sensation of Pierce's hands on him is so close to what he wants, what he _needs_ , and the fact that it doesn't mean what he wants it to is going to kill him. "Please, Master -- Pierce -- don't do this to me. Not like this. Not this way."

Pierce leans forward and twists fingers into Sean's hair. "Get your eyes open," he murmurs.

" _Please._ "

"Eyes open, lad."

Sean forces them open. His body hurts everywhere, and the worst of it is knowing he's hard despite how much he doesn't want what's happening to him. It's a mockery of everything he's here for, and Pierce knows it, and Pierce is going to give it to him anyway.

 _Fight him. Make him take it from you. Don't just give in._

"Beg," Pierce whispers.

Heat flashes under Sean's skin, and his eyes close again as he tries to drag his head to the side, tries to turn his face away. "Please," Sean whispers.

Pierce slides the head of his cock in and waits for more. Sean clenches his teeth, feels his body clench around Pierce's cock. "Please," he whispers again. Not enough. "Master, please, this slave begs you to take him," Sean gets out.

Another inch, and Sean moans, head tilting back, throat arching. Pierce's hands shift to pin Sean's arms down, and Sean growls, trying to thrust his hips forward. The noises in the back of his throat sound hungry, desperate, and despite everything, despite himself, they are.

"More," Pierce murmurs. "Tell me how much you want it, lad."

"Dying for it," Sean gets out, "need it, so much, Master, _please_ \--"

"I could be anyone," Pierce whispers. "Do you see that?"

Sean doesn't answer, and Pierce slides in, filling him, making Sean arch further, gasp out his breath. He starts moving, slowly, keeping Sean pinned when Sean tries to fight him.

"Love me if you want," Pierce breathes. "Love me if you have to. But it'd be easier on us both if you'd hate me."

Sean's throat closes, and he tries to keep his eyes from giving up his tears. They spill out anyway, over his cheek and onto the dark wood of the table's surface. Pierce speeds up his thrusts, and one hand goes around Sean's cock. Sean would fight it if he had the strength left to do it. He can't.

"Come now," Pierce whispers. "Come screaming."

Sean's hands tighten into fists, and he comes, screaming as ordered. In his time with Pierce, he's never been hurt this much. He's never been hurt in a way he thought he might not recover from. And his scream is laced with pain and fear and hatred and love, all tangled together so hard he can't tell one from the other anymore.

Pierce follows him over, arching his head back and gasping as he comes. He holds still when it's over, waiting for his breath to even out, waiting for Sean's gasps and tears to still. When Sean's pulled himself back together, Pierce draws away.

"You've earned five minutes' rest. And then I want you to clean up."

Sean nods, and Pierce walks away. Sean begins ticking off seconds.


	20. Dilemna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierce sends Sean out to be hurt. The only one willing to play with him is a boy who's willing to flaunt convention.

Sean steps into the bar, forest-green velvet collar around his neck, studded black leather wristband on his right wrist. This is his first time in a leather bar, and he doesn't know what to expect. Barely knows what he's doing here, and can't believe he's about to look for someone he doesn't know to hurt him. Pierce has an unusual sense of sadism at times.

He's trying not to be too conscious of the way he walks or the picture he's presenting. Nearly six feet tall, solid muscle on a medium frame, Sean takes steps with confidence and does not have trouble meeting the eyes of people who watch him. He's not wearing leather, apart from his cuff; he's in black jeans, a white t-shirt that's almost too small for him, and there again is Pierce's sense of sadism -- Sean is on display, uncomfortable because he doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to let Pierce prove his point.

 _Find someone to hurt you. Bring home marks. Don't come back until you've screamed at least once. You'll enjoy it, and you'll have to face enjoying it. Find something you like, lad._

But Christ, Sean doesn't know what he likes. He doesn't know what he wants. And he doesn't know how picky he gets to be at a place like this, whether he'll be allowed to turn offers down.

It honestly doesn't seem to matter at first. No one approaches him, and he's not entirely certain why. He rests against the bar, and when the bartender comes by, politely orders a club soda and tips well.

Jon's been watching the crowd tonight, looking for something different, something that makes his breath catch out of surprise. His cuff is on the left wrist tonight, and he's in black, leather pants, mesh shirt, eyeliner. He's been hunting, giving proper respect to boys who come by and offer him drinks or compliments, and yet... nothing strikes him, in particular.

The blond man at the bar, though -- there's something interesting. He's collared, but he's alone, and he looks terribly uncomfortable. Not simply foundless and masterless for the evening -- he looks as if he doesn't know what to do here, or why people are looking at him but being careful not to touch. The cuff on his right wrist is covered in small flat studs, not quite big enough to be gaudy. Jon almost hates to admit it -- the blond _is_ collared -- but he's intrigued.

He walks over to the blond and leans up against the bar. "Hello," he says. "What's your name, boy?"

It strikes Sean as mildly ridiculous to have a slight lad who's probably half his age come up and call him _boy_ , but in all honesty, he can't really complain. This is part of the point of this exercise, he imagines: random humiliation from strangers. Fine, then. Be polite about it. Sean clears his throat and turns his attention to the stranger at the bar. "Sean, Sir," he says quietly.

"I'm Jonathan." Jon smiles. "You're alone tonight?"

"I... yes..." Sean's voice trails off, and he has no idea how to respond to that.

"Alone without your master?" Jon elaborates.

Sean's eyes drop to the floor. "Yes," he says, again whisper-soft.

Jon shakes his head. "What are you doing here, boy?"

Sean looks up, then looks away, still not certain about his responses.

That lack of response sits very poorly with Jon; he leans in close, eyes narrowed, and although he doesn't touch Sean, the sensation of his nearness is sharp and impossible to ignore. "I asked you a question," Jon hisses.

"My master," Sean begins -- it's the first time he's used those words out of Pierce's presence, and certainly the first time he's used them in order to introduce himself to a stranger -- "sent me out to be hurt."

Startled, Jon draws back. "You're insane," he declares. "You come here, collared, and you expect someone to play with you anyway?"

"I came here under instruction," Sean says, frustrated. The frustration has him willing to be honest. "I can't leave until someone makes me scream."

"Good luck," Jon scoffs. "Do you know what that collar around your neck means?"

"Of course," Sean says, and he's starting to get frustrated now. "But what am I supposed to do? Take it off?"

"Can you?"

Sean shakes his head.

"Well, then, I think you're going to be here a while. A top who's willing to play with a collared boy. Jesus, that's ridiculous."

Sean turns back to the bar, irritated, frustrated, angry. He looks down at his club soda and huffs out a soft breath. "I'm new at this," Sean says quietly.

"That's fucking obvious, boy."

"How old are you?"

Jon shoots Sean a look. "You don't get to ask questions like that. Fuck, you _are_ new at this." He looks pointedly at Sean's club soda.

It takes Sean a few moments to realize what Jon is after, and then he looks down at the ground, closing his eyes for a moment. "May I fetch you a drink, Sir?" he asks.

" _Fetch_. I like that. Yes, _boy_ , you may _fetch_ me a drink -- tea, still boiling when it gets to me, or your _master_ will hear his boy went out and earned a reputation as a failure." Jon turns and leans both elbows on the bar in front of him.

Sean walks over to the bartender; after a few moments of discussion, the bartender nods, glancing over at Jon with half a grin on his suspicious face, and a few minutes later hands Sean a teabag and a mug of bubbling water. Sean walks over to Jon and drops to his knees, careful not to spill any of the water over his hand.

Jon grins; the water won't stay boiling for long now that it's off heat, but it's good to see this novice boy follows orders to the letter. He takes the tea and sets it on the bar, unwraps the tea bag and sets it in the water, and looks down at Sean. "All right," he says. "Let me explain something to you."

Sean looks up, but doesn't move off his knees. His expression is unfathomable; he rests his hands on his knees, palms down, and waits.

"It is _unheard of_ for collared boys to run around places like this without their masters. What you look like, if you'll forgive me, is someone who really looks like he wants to fit in and doesn't know what the fuck he's doing."

"That's--"

"Shut the fuck up; I wasn't finished." Jon arches an eyebrow. "But the fact that you might be someone making up his outfit from scratch doesn't change the fact that touching a collared boy without the express permission of his master is a hell of a sign of disrespect. To the master, and to the tradition of being good enough to own a boy in the first place. And that is why you are going to get absolutely nowhere with that collar on. So yes, if you want someone to play with you, you're going to have to get rid of it."

Sean would like nothing more than to abandon his collar; he hates the fucking things, hates the way they tighten on his neck for no apparent reason and never seem to let up. If he could afford to tug on them, choke his breath off, it might be worth it, but the last time he did that, Pierce was furious about the mangled state of the collar afterwards. _And you haven't earned leather or steel, lad, so don't even ask._ As if he would. As if he wouldn't hate leather or steel twice as much as he hates ribbon.

But he shakes his head. "I can't," he says, quietly, desperately.

"Then you're in trouble." Jon dunks his teabag a few times and then removes it; he doesn't blow on the water before taking a sip. It should burn him; it does burn him, and later he'll sting from it. "Because your only other option is to find someone who doesn't give a shit about the whole masters-and-boys phenomenon, and doesn't give a shit if he can never be seen in a bar like this again. And believe me, it takes long enough to find places like these; you don't get someone like that very often."

Sean's eyes close. "I can't leave until I've screamed."

"So open your fucking trap and scream, and go the hell home."

Sean glares up at Jon. "I have to go home _marked_."

"You aren't going to get it." Jon takes his tea and drops down into a crouch, putting him at eye level with Sean. "Now, I could tell you you did a piss-poor job with my tea, and I could have you take your shirt off while I spill it over your shoulders. It's still hot enough you'd burn from it, and that, boy, would leave a mark you could take home to your master, although you'd heal up fine. Is that the sort of thing you'd be willing to settle for? Would you scream from it?"

"If it's all I can take, then I have no choice, do I?" Sean asks. "I don't know if I'd scream, Sir; I have never been burned before."

"I think there are a lot of things you've never done before," Jon murmurs. He stays crouched for several seconds, considering his options. This one -- Christ, he's interesting. And Jon wants him; there's really nothing for that. And for all his talk, Jon doesn't belong here; this is a place for people who take the world of masters and boys a hell of a lot more seriously than Jon ever will. The truth is, he's often looked at harshly here; he doesn't fit in. He comes, he switches, he gives everything he's got, and it almost affects him every time -- but not quite. Sooner or later, they're going to ask him to stop coming here. And if he's going to be sent out anyway, he might as well be sent out for something serious.

Jon lifts his hand to Sean's throat and runs a finger along the velvet of his collar. Another thing that isn't done. You don't touch a boy's collar, don't try to put your mark on him as if that collar belongs to you. And all the same, Jon's finger runs back and forth, until he gets Sean's eyes on him again.

Sean can feel the light press of Jon's finger on his neck, and he's achingly hard from it. _Damn you._ He glares, but only lightly, and he tries to swallow. "What do you want, Sir?" he asks.

"I want to give you those marks you're after," Jon murmurs. "But we won't be able to do it here. Come back to my place. I'll hurt you."

Sean nods, once, almost stunned by how strong the arousal at that phrase is. When Jon stands, Sean stands and sets himself behind Jon, and he follows Jon out of the bar.


	21. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean lands at Jon's house, and Jon shows him a few things he's never encountered before. Someone's master's been neglectful...

Sean slides into the passenger seat of Jon's car, which is a tiny little cheap sports car with a t-top, and bright electric green. Sean has to adjust the seat back some in order to get comfortable.

Jon reaches out and grabs Sean by the throat. "You're a presumptious little fuck," he hisses. "How long have you been at this, _boy_?"

Sean blinks, and he can't breathe. Jon's not pressing hard enough to choke the breath from him, but that hand on his neck is doing a thousand different arousing things all at once. _Liam. Oh, God. Pierce was right._

Jon takes in the look on Sean's face and lets the pressure ease a little, stroking his fingers lightly over Sean's neck.

Sean shivers, and his eyes close. His fingers twist together in his lap. He moans, quietly, and whispers, "Please..."

"Please what?" Jon murmurs, still stroking, still teasing. "Do you like being choked, boy?"

"I don't know... I mean I... yes, please, Sir," Sean hitches out.

"You don't know?" Jon curves his hand around Sean's throat again.

And again, Sean moans, choked huffs of breath working their way out of his mouth, even though Jon's not pressing in nearly hard enough to choke.

"You love this," Jon murmurs. He tightens his grip just a little and leans over to put his lips at Sean's ear. "You fucking _adore_ this. What the fuck do you _mean_ , you don't _know_?"

"I... I, oh, fucking Christ, oh God, Sir," Sean gasps. "I've never done. I mean it's been done to me, but not this way. I mean... oh fuck, oh fuck, I'm going to fucking come if you keep that up..."

"No, you're not," Jon whispers. "You're not going to come at all. I'm going to beat you and mark you for your master, and I'm going to fuck you and then spill my come all over your chest, and you'll lick it up... but you're not going to come." He snugs his hand tighter up around Sean's throat. "Are you, boy?"

This time Sean's moan is lost in misery, and he can feel tears welling up from the pressure of keeping himself from going over the edge. He squeezes his eyes shut and balls up a fist, then thumps it into the car door -- _why_ in fuck hasn't Pierce noticed this? Liam went for his throat almost on meeting him. It took Jon, who's got to be less than half Pierce's age, who can't possibly have been doing this for long, under ten minutes to find it, and Pierce has never even bothered to _look_. _You fucking bastard._

"Are you, boy?" Jon repeats. He grins viciously and slides the flat of his tongue down the line of Sean's jaw, then draws it across Sean's lips. Sean's master hasn't done this for him; Jon is certain of that now. He can't wait to see what Sean does over the course of the evening.

"Please," Sean begs. "Please stop, please..."

"I'm going to stop," Jon murmurs, but his grip tightens one step further, and now he _is_ cutting off Sean's air. "But only so I can take you home and fuck you." And then he eases off, sitting back in his own chair and belting himself in.

Sean shivers and scrambles for his seatbelt. _Not going to come at all._ Christ.

Jon maneuvers the little terror through the streets and pulls up into his apartment complex; he parks the car in the nearest spot and climbs out, jogging up the steps, three flights of them, to his place. He looks over his shoulder. "Christ, we don't have all fucking night, or do we, boy?" Jon asks, lip curling up a little.

"No, Sir -- I'm sorry, Sir," Sean murmurs, catching up and waiting at Jon's side. "Please," he adds, very softly.

Jon reaches out and ruffles Sean's hair. "Good boy," he says. "Come on." He opens the door and lets Sean in, pushing Sean straight through the entranceway into the small spare bedroom across the hall.

The bedroom has a low, steel-framed bed in it, and a fairly large chest of drawers in one corner. The steel of the bedframe is a polished, chromed black, and it's got thick bars all the way across the headboard and footboard. Sean can already see the possibilities. There are no covers on the bed, only a fitted black sheet, quite clean. That's a relief. The window above the bed has been covered over with foil, and the walls of this room are all painted black. There's an overhead light, and Jon flicks that on, but it's -- oddly enough -- purple. It casts enough light for Sean to be sure Jon will be able to see what he's doing, but Christ, purple? Is that the norm for this sort of thing?

Jon grins at the look on Sean's face and plants a hand between Sean's shoulderblades, shoving him over to the bed. "Slow motherfucker," Jon says, shaking his head. "Get undressed." He goes over to the chest of drawers and starts rummaging, sounds of clinking heading out into the room.

Sean swallows hard. All right. So here he is, with a top -- the hell with Jon's age, he's a top -- who knows what he's doing, knows how to find Sean's kinks, and has God-knows-what in that drawer there. Sean takes his boots off, then slips out of his shirt. The pants go next -- Pierce insisted on Sean going without underwear -- and then Sean's naked, cuff and collar only, and he turns his head over his shoulder to see if he can make out what Jon's doing at the dresser.

Jon has finally come up with sets of cuffs, nice wide leather ones. He nods to Sean's right wrist. "I think your intentions are clear," he murmurs, "so take that off, and I'll get the proper ones on you."

Sean's breath catches. "All right," he murmurs. He flicks the leather cuff off and scoots back a little further on the bed. "How do you want me?"

"Obedient," Jon says, lips quirking up. "You call me 'Sir' at the end of every sentence, and you don't move unless I tell you. Now get up here, face down."

Sean crawls up onto the bed and remains still while Jon attaches first wrist cuffs, then ankle cuffs, stretching Sean out so he's spread-eagled. Sean shoves his face into the mattress, moaning already. This is supposed to be humiliating. It's supposed to be a test, a punishment, a way for Pierce to prove that Sean doesn't need _him_ \-- he only needs _someone_.

Humiliation is a _choice_ , Sean's decided. He's damned if he's going to let Pierce's cruelty get in the way of what he's feeling now that he's here. And if there's a hint of cruelty in his own thoughts, he's not going to acknowledge it. He remembers how much it bothered Pierce thinking about Liam managing to get Sean somewhere Sean wanted to go; how much more is it going to bother Pierce thinking about some random boy in a bar getting Sean somewhere he wants to stay?

There's a thrum of anticipation under Sean's skin. It could be because Jon's new to him. Or because he thinks he's close to finding something beautiful. It's not because he's going to come home knowing he's taken advantage of Pierce's unwitting generosity, and that if Pierce ever finds out just how much Sean enjoyed this, it'll hurt like hell. Sean's not that cruel.

Jon goes back to the chest of drawers and, after a few more clinking sounds, comes back to bed. He straddles Sean's hips, and Sean feels a tickle across his shoulders. A strong, cold tickle, in what seems like a dozen different places.

"What...?" Sean breathes. "Sir," he remembers, belatedly.

"Sshhh." And the tickle intensifies -- and then ten spikes of bright hard pain cut into Sean's shoulders, and he jumps, bucking up against Jon's hips, shouting into the bed. The pain eases, then, back to the tickle.

" _Fuck_ ," Sean breathes. "Sir."

Jon laughs at that. "Claws," he murmurs. "Never felt anything like this?"

"No, God... Sir."

"Like it?" And Jon digs those ten claws into Sean's shoulders again, this time drawing them down in a straight line, down toward the small of his back, getting halfway down before he lets the pressure ease. Sean will mark. He'll mark beautifully; his skin is red in sharp, defined trails where Jon scratched at him.

Sean's breath rushes out of him in stuttered, jagged moans. _He asked me a question. Answer him._ "Yes, Sir," Sean whispers. "Like it, Sir."

"Pain slut." Jon starts at the top of Sean's shoulders again and digs in harder. Welts are coming up on Sean's skin. Jon is going to have a hell of a difficult time talking himself out of drawing blood; marking is one thing, bloodplay is something else.

"Yes, Sir," Sean pants out; he clenches his teeth hard and growls again, stifling a scream.

"You want to scream for me," Jon says. He slides down Sean's legs and digs the claws into his hips. "Scream, then."

" _No,_ " Sean grinds out. The claws in his hips are making him feel like his skin is on fire, and when Jon draws them down the sides of his thighs, he growls again, forcing his throat into the growl and not the scream. He does want to scream. He's not going to do it yet.

"Stubborn little fuck." Jon comes back up and goes in hard, all ten claws biting down, starting at Sean's shoulders and gliding over his skin, no blood, not this time, but close, and Sean writhes and bucks and jerks under him to the point where Jon's almost afraid Sean is going to break his own skin.

And still Sean doesn't scream. Sean pants, groans, and his teeth clench so hard Jon's sorry he didn't give Sean a bite gag.

"Tell me what you want," Jon hisses. "What's it going to take to get you screaming for me? You just want the pain? Or do you want to feel like I'm giving you something _real_?"

Sean doesn't want to scream because when he screams he can _leave_. He grits his teeth all the harder, and he doesn't answer.

" _Fucking_ stubborn," Jon pants, and he lifts himself off Sean's hips and heads back to the chest of drawers. Sean is marked. Welted. Decidedly so. Jon could stop now, but he'd sooner die than let Sean walk out of here without screaming, so he goes looking for the next step.

Sean hears the snap of a latex glove going on and feels Jon's weight settle onto the bed again, between his legs this time. Then there's the cool, tugging glide of latex up the side of his leg -- Sean hisses as Jon presses down hard over his welts -- and then Jon's fingers drift down over his cleft. Sean moans quietly and presses his hips forward into the bed.

"Are you trying to get away, or are you trying to get your cock pressed into the mattress?" Jon murmurs.

"I'm... not trying to get away, Sir," Sean moans.

"Good. When was the last time you were fisted?"

Sean blinks at that. His ass clenches involuntarily, and he blows out a breath and forces himself to relax. "Never, Sir," he murmurs.

 _Christ._ Jon shakes his head. He bites off a snarky comment about Sean's neglectful master, and simply pumps out quite a bit of lube and rubs it over his fingers. "Want it?" he asks.

"I don't..." Sean twists a little in his restraints. "Don't know, Sir. Please."

Jon sighs. He looks down at Sean and considers it. "Not like this," he decides, finally. "Hold on. I'm going to let you up. And then I want you on your back, with your knees up."

Sean nods, and he's patient while Jon unbuckles him, one-handed because his gloved hand is still slick with lube and it would be pointless cleaning up _now_. When all four cuffs are undone, Sean turns over and brings his knees up, pushing up from flat on his back to being balanced on his elbows, looking up at Jon with eyes that are entirely too trusting. He winces, and Jon realizes his welts must be stretching and feeling raw, but Sean's doing a beautiful job of standing it anyway.

"Very good boy," Jon whispers. "Let's see what you can do for me." He slides two fingers in, figuring Sean can take two without even wincing.

And he's right; Sean takes those first two and moans, opening his knees wider, relaxing his asshole without really seeming to need much coaxing. Jon grins at that. "Think you're going to like this," he says; he draws his fingers back, adds more lube, and goes in with three fingers. He curls them up, hard, and Sean squeezes his eyes shut, panting.

"Good boy," Jon says. He keeps his fingers there for a moment, and then begins sliding them in and out, fucking Sean slowly with three fingers, giving him a nice corkscrewing motion as he draws his fingers out.

Sean moans, and eventually realizes he can't keep holding himself up on his elbows. He eases himself down, very gently, and hisses hard as his welts press into the bed. And that in turn causes him to tense around Jon's fingers. He bites down on his lower lip and moans quietly to himself.

"Relax," Jon murmurs. "You can manage this. I'm going to give you four fingers now, and it's all right. You can take them."

"Please," Sean whispers, his eyes on the ceiling. "God..."

"Sshhh." Jon pulls his fingers back and glides more lube over them, so much it drips onto the sheet. Sean isn't so tight Jon's afraid of hurting him, but more lube can never hurt. He grins as he tucks his smallest finger in as best he can and presses in, undulating his fingers a bit as he works them in up to the last knuckle. "Let me have it," Jon murmurs. "Give it to me."

"Oh, _God_." Sean closes his eyes completely. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, then lets his body relax around Jon's fingers. "Please," he whispers.

"That's right. Good boy. Give it to me..." Jon presses his fingers as deep as he can get them, then withdraws them and slides them back in. A few more glides, and he can feel Sean's receptivity growing by the moment. "You're ready," he murmurs. His cock is so hard it's starting to ache. "Ready for me. You can do this. Come on."

More lube -- no such thing as too much lube -- and Jon tucks his thumb under, then slides those first four fingers in again. And now he can see his thumb going with them, and Sean is lying perfectly still, but he's whispering " _please please please please_ ," and Jon holds his breath while he pushes in further.

" _More, God,_ " Sean breathes, and if he weren't lying perfectly, completely still, Jon would tell him to stop talking, stop moving, just keep breathing. But Sean seems to know that without being told, and when Jon's hand works in that last difficult inch, he can see the change all over Sean's body as the press in becomes easy, as Sean's body swallows him up. Sean's skin flushes, and he's sweating.

"Jesus, you're beautiful," Jon whispers. "Do you know how beautiful you are?"

A soft moan is all that comes out of Sean. Jon closes his eyes and goes in just a little more, just enough that he can curl his hand into a fist and hold it steady.

He can feel the thread of tension that runs through Sean at that. "Calm down," Jon whispers. "You've got it. You're holding it. Do you feel that?" He rocks his fist forward, barely at all, just enough that Sean can feel the motion. "That's my fist in you."

"Jesus," Sean breathes. "Oh, God. Jonathan. It's good."

"You like that?" Jon rocks his fist in a little more this time, and rocks it back. "Tell me."

"Please, please, please -- Jonathan -- oh God..."

"You remember how I said you weren't going to come?" Jon whispers. He's moving steadily now, not far, only about an inch, but he knows that's enough, and that his knuckles are brushing up against Sean right where it counts.

"Oh, _God_ ," Sean bursts out. " _Please_ , oh God, I can't... I can't..."

"I know you can't," Jon says, "and so you don't have to. Come when you can." He twists his wrist, just a little, instead of rocking this time, and then goes back to those slow, steady, inch by inch movements.

"Thank y-- God -- please, Christ, yes--" Sean arches, then, and Jon goes still immediately as Sean comes, cock pulsing over and over, warm beads of liquid pooling around the head of his cock and then being forced away by the next soft rush of come. Jon tries to keep his breathing steady as he watches -- Sean is fucking _gorgeous_ , and whoever his master is, he has no fucking idea what he's missing. Jesus.

When Sean's breath goes back to something approximating normal, Jon puts his free hand over Sean's lower belly. "I need to come out of you, now," he murmurs. "Just relax for me and breathe. It's going to be as tough going out as it was going in, but think about how good you were for me when I went in and know that you can do it." He waits until Sean blinks his eyes open, and nods. "You can. Now relax. Breathe."

He uncurls his fist, and as Sean exhales, draws his hand back. Slowly. Not even an inch at a time. It's hard pulling back from here, and Sean's body contracts as he goes, but then he can see the base of his thumb, and as he keeps drawing his hand back, as Sean keeps up the long, steady breaths, it gets easier, until he's drawing his fingers out, still slow even though the resistance has gone.

Sean lets out a long groan once Jon's fingers have left him, and he stretches, grimacing. "Fuck," he whispers.

"Liked that?" Jon asks.

"Oh, Christ, yeah, I fucking liked that."

"Good. Stay here a moment. I'll be back."

Jon heads off to the bathroom, where he snaps off his glove, washes his hands, and comes back with a warm, damp washcloth. He strokes it over Sean's inner thighs, then cleans up the lube -- carefully -- and finally rubs it, none too gently, over Sean's cock. "Good boy," Jon murmurs. "Very good boy."

"Thank you," Sean whispers.

"You want to go home to your master now?" Sean hesitates, and Jon can see it in his face. "You haven't screamed," Jon points out quietly.

"No," Sean agrees. "Haven't screamed yet."

"Mm-hm." Jon reaches under the bed for a blanket. "Then get a half hour's rest. I'll make you scream." He leans over and presses his lips to Sean's forehead. "Promise."


	22. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't come home until you scream." Jon gets Sean to scream.

Half an hour's rest, and Sean finds himself idly counting the seconds, counting minutes. Jon comes back in at twenty-five minutes and forty seconds, if Sean's count is accurate.

"How do you feel?" Jon asks. He slides a hand under the blanket to touch Sean's arm, lets his fingers explore the curve of Sean's bicep.

"Overwhelmed," Sean whispers. "Hungry."

Jon raises an eyebrow. "Hungry meaning you'd like me to get you something, or hungry meaning...?"

Sean comes up on his elbows and tilts his face up. "Hungry meaning I want whatever you'll give me. Please, Sir. Anything."

Jon puts his hand at the side of Sean's neck and lets his thumb rub gently over his windpipe. _Stop this,_ he thinks fiercely. _He is not yours._

"All right," Jon whispers. "Could you get hard again, if I asked it of you?"

"I don't know, Sir." Sean looks away. "I think so, Sir."

"Good." Jon pulls the blanket away and pushes Sean to his back. "I want you to hold still."

And he crawls down the bed, slinking, really, until his mouth is level with Sean's cock. Sean feels the ghost of Jon's breath against his cock, and moans quietly, but he doesn't move. "Please," he whispers.

"Please what, boy?" Jon asks. His lips move closer, closer still, until they're dancing a line up the center of Sean's cock. His tongue dips into the foreskin, playing with it, and Sean jerks.

Jon takes his mouth away. "Well. The good: you can certainly get hard again. The bad: you moved. Did I not tell you to hold still?"

Sean moans. "I'm sorry, Sir."

"You'll be more sorry in a moment," Jon promises. He climbs back up the bed and straddles Sean's chest, then sits back, lightly, on his heels. He unzips his pants and pulls his cock out, stroking it almost absently while he reaches out to stroke fingers over Sean's face. "You could have had my mouth," he murmurs, "but you couldn't be good enough to hold still."

Sean whimpers at that; he nuzzles into Jon's fingers and tries to draw one into his mouth. Jon dances his fingers away, still stroking his cock with lazy, unconcerned flicks of his wrist. "You could be good," Jon murmurs, "if you wanted to."

"Please, Sir."

 _He's not yours. Stop playing him this way. He doesn't know anything, Jesus._

"You could be good if you wanted to," Jon repeats. Sean's eyes come up and settle on Jon's, and for a few moments, their breathing falls in unison. Jon leans down and rests his cock against Sean's lips. "Don't lick," he murmurs. "Don't kiss. Don't try to take more than I'm giving you."

Sean's eyes close, and he moans. He doesn't move, doesn't try to take Jon's cock in his mouth. Jon keeps stroking, the head of his cock brushing against Sean's lips with every stroke of his hand, and then he speeds up, lazy strokes finally giving way to ones that mean something. "Oh, _fuck_ ," Jon grunts, and with one more rough stroke, starts to come. Sean's eyes open up as Jon paints his cheeks with thin streaks of come, white jets that mark Sean's cheeks, his chin, his lips. Jon lets out several broken moans as he finishes, and wipes his cock against an unmarked spot on Sean's cheek when he's done.

"Pretty boy," Jon whispers. He crawls back down the bed so he's straddling Sean's lap, and he can see Sean's eyes gleaming. "Like that?" His ass comes down and grinds down hard against Sean's erection.

" _Oh fuck_... Yes, Sir... I liked that," Sean moans. His hands clench and unclench, and Jon smiles. Sean could be good if he wanted to be. Right now he seems to be trying, and that's a good sign.

"You like feeling come drip down your face?" Jon whispers.

"Yes," Sean says. His brow furrows for a moment, and Jon brings a hand up to trace the slight creases in Sean's forehead.

"What does that look mean?" Jon asks.

"It... means... at least I knew _that_ much," Sean whispers. "I shouldn't say that. Shouldn't say things like that."

"Your master's a fucking fool," Jon murmurs.

Sean's eyes flash. "He's my master."

"How long has he had you?"

Sean looks away. "More than two years."

Jon goes still; the confession has him floored. He recovers, but his eyes are hard once he does. "And in that time he's come on your face... but he hasn't fisted you... or played with your asphyxiation kink... and he's sending you out to leather bars with a collar around your neck." Jon reaches forward and puts a hand, very gently, around Sean's throat. "Your master's a fucking fool," he repeats.

Sean's eyes slam shut, and he's gasping, hips rocking up, cock pressing into Jon's ass as he tries desperately to keep from reaching for Jon. "Please," Sean whispers. "Please. Please. Jonathan. _Sir._ Please."

"Please _what_ , boy?" Jon growls.

" _Do it_ ," Sean begs.

"Do _what_?"

"Your hand... on my throat... choke me... _please_ , Sir."

Jon levers his body up off Sean's, getting both knees to one side of Sean's hips, pressing down hard on Sean's throat as he goes. He doesn't really need to do it for balance, but it makes for a good excuse. Sean grunts, and his body arches up helplessly. Jon takes the pressure away again, and strokes his fingers across Sean's throat. "Good boy," Jon whispers. "Begging sounds good on you."

"Please, Sir," Sean whispers. "Please, Sir, more of that. Please."

"Christ," Jon murmurs. "All I have to do is touch you and you're close. Look at this." And, smiling, he presses down hard against Sean's throat.

Another muffled grunt, and Sean's hips work in midair, Sean's hands curled into fists and shoved hard into the bed.

Jon eases up and leans down, leaving his hand against Sean's throat. He takes a small lick off Sean's cheek, pulling a taste of his come from Sean's skin. "You could be so good," Jon murmurs. "So good, boy."

Sean shudders. "Please," he whispers.

"Mm." Jon takes several more small, slow licks off Sean's skin. "I wonder. Do you think you could come from this?" His fingers trail back and forth over Sean's throat. "Do you?"

"Oh, God. Yes, Sir. If you'd let me." Sean's voice is hoarse. "Please, Sir, let me try."

"I will," Jon agrees. He snugs his hand up against Sean's throat, not pressing hard yet, but just the pressure is enough to have Sean moaning and shaking. Jon laps gently at Sean's cheek. "You can come," he whispers, "when your face is clean."

Jon starts a pulsing rhythm against Sean's throat -- on for half a second, off for four or five. Every time his hand presses down hard, Sean groans, and every time it eases up, Sean pants and squeezes his eyes tight. Jon works his way over Sean's left cheek, then switches to his right, leaving Sean's chin and lips for last.

He straddles Sean when it's just the come across Sean's lips, and takes his hand away from Sean's throat. "Tell me," Jon whispers. "What do you want, boy?"

"Your hand -- Sir -- on my throat -- when I come," Sean pants. " _Please_ , Sir."

"Do you want to be inside me when I give that to you?"

Sean can't even get out words; he arches his neck, and moans.

"I think that's a yes," Jon teases. "Is that a yes, boy?"

"Yes," Sean breathes. "Please."

"All right." Jon slides off the bed and finally strips bare, leaving his clothes on the floor. He takes another condom from the chest of drawers and walks back over to Sean, where he weighs Sean's cock in his hand and squeezes, as if testing it. "You're going to feel good inside me," Jon murmurs. "You're so fucking big, Sean."

"Please," Sean murmurs. "Please fuck me."

Jon's lips turn up at that, and he slicks the condom over Sean's cock. "Good boy," he murmurs. "Because it doesn't matter that you're going to be in me. We both know it's me fucking you, don't we?"

"Yes, Sir, _please_ , please fuck me," Sean begs. "Please..."

"All right," Jon murmurs. He doesn't bother with lube -- the condom's lubricated, and he wants to feel Sean hurting him, burning him, knowing Sean doesn't mean any of it. He wants the rough, impossible, tugging glide of it to drive Sean out of his mind.   
He straddles Sean's hips and begins sinking down, only able to take the first inch when he starts. Sean jerks under him and gasps, hands sliding up to grip the rails of the headboard. "Christ," Sean whispers.

Jon lifts up and slides back down, capturing another half-inch. "Good boy," Jon murmurs. "Don't come until I tell you."

"I -- yes, Sir," Sean pants.

"Don't come until I tell you," Jon repeats, and lifts up enough to slide down hard this time. It makes him throw back his head and scream, and he braces one hand on Sean's chest, panting hard.

"It's hurting you," Sean murmurs. One of his hands comes free and covers Jon's on his chest. "Do you want it to hurt you?"

"Shut the fuck up," Jon growls, and he sinks down lower, finally resting his ass against Sean's hips. He digs his fingernails into Sean's chest. "Get your fucking hands back on the rails."

Sean frowns, but doesn't argue. He puts his hands back on the rails and closes his eyes.

 _Damn it._ Jon's expression softens, and he trails his fingers over Sean's face. "You're a good boy," Jon murmurs. "You are."

"Please. Jonathan, please."

Jon rests his hand against Sean's throat. "I'm not going to move," he murmurs. "I'm going to put my hand on you, and you're going to come from it."

" _Please._ "

"Sean?" Jon pauses. "You haven't screamed."

Jon's hand comes down hard, then, cutting off Sean's breath. Sean jerks underneath Jon, and Christ, it doesn't take long. It doesn't take long at all, and Jon can feel Sean pulsing inside him as he comes, grunting with as much force as he can draw up. Jon lets go as soon as the pulses of Sean's cock begin to ease, and Sean pulls in a long, desperate breath, then lets it out in a hoarse, screamed moan.

"Oh, God," Jon murmurs. His fingers brush against Sean's cheeks. "Oh, God, you're beautiful."

Sean can't possibly speak. He nods, nuzzling against Jon's fingers.

"You screamed for me," Jon murmurs. "I have to take you home now."

"No," Sean whispers. "Please."

"You don't belong to me, Sean." Jon slides off Sean's cock, making Sean stifle a groan. "And I'm not a real top, anyway. A real top wouldn't have taken a collared boy home with him."

Sean gets his eyes open and frowns up at Jon. "Fuck that," he spits. "You know more about me already than Pierce has discovered in all the time I've been with him. How are you not a real top?"

"Because I don't love it. Or need it." Jon doesn't meet Sean's eyes. "I do it when I can't get pushed any other way."

"Pushed?" Sean repeats. "Pushed. You do this to get pushed?"

"I do it to push _myself_. When I start to lose hope that anyone else could push me." Jon looks over his shoulder at Sean. "I couldn't keep you even if I wanted to."

Sean looks away, and Jon hesitates. He reaches out and puts a hand over Sean's shoulder. "I do want to," Jon whispers. "But I can't."

"I know." Sean holds still for quite a while, and part of it is wondering how long Jon will give him. But when it's been more than a while, and Jon still hasn't taken his hand away or made any moves to ask Sean to go, Sean sits up, gasping and wincing at the burn in his ass. "I have to go home," he murmurs.

"Come on." Jon wraps an arm around Sean's shoulders. "I..." He pauses and drops a kiss against Sean's neck. "Masters aren't forever," he says quietly. "It's a game. They play at it, and they take it so seriously, but they're people, Sean. People change. Masters change. None of it is forever."

Sean only shakes his head. "Would you rather call me a cab?"

"No. No, I'll drive you. Go on, get dressed."

It's a long drive, and Jon doesn't speak. Sean, seeming to take the approach of speaking only when spoken to, doesn't talk, either. When Sean's been left at the fucking monstrosity of a mansion that his master lives in, Jon threads his way through surface streets to get back home.

 _None of it is forever._

Jon shrugs and pulls up to another bar, its neon sign glowing sickly among the hazy streetlights of the broken-down block. It's good enough. It'll do.

He walks into the bar, and the first person who draws his eye is a tall man, well-built, brown hair, hazel eyes. Jon walks straight up to him and doesn't hesitate.

"Do you push?"

The tall man raises an eyebrow, and Jon puts a hand in the center of his chest, then fists it in the fabric and yanks him close.

"Push me."

And the other man grins.


	23. Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierce had a girl once. This is where we first meet Linda.

The phone rings late one afternoon when Sean is alone in the house. "Mr. Brosnan's house," Sean answers automatically.

"Lad, it's me." Pierce sounds better than Sean's heard from him in months. He sounds _happy_. Sean is instantly suspicious. "I want you to do something for me. Go upstairs, if you aren't there already. In your closet there's a pair of black leather pants. I want you in those, and I want you in the black satin collar. Nothing else. Then be ready to serve when we get home. Should be about a quarter of an hour. I want you in full-out presentation mode, lad. Make me proud."

A bit stunned, Sean stammers out an affirmative answer and a belated "...Master," and Pierce hangs up before he can ask any more questions.

All right -- the leather pants, then. Sean doesn't often find himself with an occasion to wear them, but he won't complain about them. Pierce doesn't seem to care one way or the other what Sean's wearing most of the time, but when he's in presentation mode, Pierce is very particular about Sean's appearance. Sean goes to the closet and takes off the rest of his clothing, tossing things into the laundry hamper. He's half hard as he gets into the leather pants; they're cold and heavy, but they're supple and fit him like a second skin. He wishes, desperately, that being in presentation mode meant more than it does. It means he's expected to serve Pierce, and probably Pierce's friends, but it doesn't mean Pierce will give a damn about him.

 _And is that what you want, lad? You want him giving a damn about you? He was right, you know; it would only complicate things._

It would, probably. But more attention would be worthwhile. Sean doesn't even bother with disobedience these days; it isn't worth the effort. He does what's required of him, and tries to accept what he's made of his life. It's not much, but it was his decision to stay here. He has, by all that's holy, _earned_ it.

The black satin collar doesn't bother him as much as it once did. He straps it on his neck and walks out to take in his reflection in front of one of the floor-length mirrors.

 _Am I so worthless, then? Is this not the sort of boy one wants serving him?_ Sean has no way of knowing. He's tall enough. His body's in good shape, owing to work, and while he's seen boys with a kind of effortless grace that almost seems catlike -- while his own poise and posture certainly isn't the equal of boys like that -- he has a certain amount of fluid sensuality all his own.

He has no way to judge whether or not he's any _good_ at submission. He knows he can take pain, and a hell of a lot of it, in a way that's left most of the masters and mistresses he's been introduced to breathless.

 _And I wish that were good enough._ It's not, though. If his pain tolerance and his desire to please were good enough, Pierce might have found more use for him.

He wonders who this _we_ is. They haven't had visitors in a while. More masters, he imagines. More boys in training to become masters themselves. He never really minds visits like those; while the boys in training are sometimes good and sometimes terribly rough around the edges, Sean's always able to make a good showing on Pierce's behalf. And at least it's attention from _someone._

Sean makes his way downstairs when nearly fifteen minutes have gone. He goes to his kneeling pose in the entryway, far enough back from the door to allow Pierce and his guests to come in and see him right away.

And then it's a matter of counting off minutes as a way to pass the time. Sean does it without even thinking about it these days. He's gotten quite good at it, to the point where he's every bit as accurate as any kitchen timer. The kitchen's about the only place where Sean's encouraged to show creativity these days, and so he's become quite the gourmet in the last few months. Every so often a new cookbook shows up, and for a few weeks Sean has something to do. He occasionally finds himself wishing Pierce had occasion to throw more parties. It would certainly make his life more interesting.

Sean can hear Pierce laughing before the door's even open. When it opens a few seconds later, any pleasure Sean might have felt at hearing Pierce's happiness vanishes. It's company, so Sean gets his eyes on the floor immediately; but it was a woman, and one whose eyes are similarly lowered.

"Linda, this is my boy, Sean. Lad, I'd like you to meet Linda. My new girl." The tone in Pierce's voice has never been more cruel. "You're allowed to look at each other. Both of you. Get your eyes up."

Sean does, and he blanches visibly, a mistake he should have had trained out of him years back. The girl in question, Linda, is several inches shorter than Pierce, a blonde -- nearly a brunette -- with medium-length hair loose around her shoulders, dressed in a suit that even Sean's poor eye for fashion can tell is quite expensive. She gives Sean a once-over, one eyebrow arched. Her eyes, like Sean's, are green. She's not a female copy of Sean, but she's got enough traits in common that Sean wonders if they're coincidence.

"So this is the famous Sean," Linda murmurs. "How long have you had him?"

"Nearing on four years."

"I don't suppose his contract's up soon." This, with a bit of disdain, as if Sean is something Linda can't wait to be rid of.

"His contract doesn't end, girl, and mind your manners. He was here before you. That counts for something."

Linda snorts a bit and shakes her head. She walks up to Sean and gives his head a rough pat. "I don't think we're going to get along very well," she tells him. "I don't like coming in second."

"Neither do I," Sean murmurs.

"Ah, this should be interesting. Watching my pets decide who's the alpha dog in the pack." Pierce closes the door behind him and walks up to Sean. He draws fingers through Sean's hair and clutches hard, making Sean's eyes close with the satisfaction of being hurt. "For the moment it's you, Sean, as you have the benefit of seniority."

"Seniority?" Linda repeats. She tosses a quick grin to Pierce. "That's not something I can beat."

"No, it isn't, so don't try to make this into more of a contest than it is." Pierce lets his arm drop from her shoulders, and turns to face Sean full-on. He draws Sean's head forward, and rubs it against his crotch. "I didn't bring you here to compete with my boy."

 _Why is she here?_ Sean wonders. But he's otherwise occupied, as well, and begins offering warm breath and soft licks to Pierce's hardening cock, through his jeans.

"That's my boy," Pierce breathes. "Good lad. Let's go upstairs, shall we? The three of us."

Sean's first instinct is to cringe. He's not interested in girls, and the last thing he's interested in offering here is a performance of some kind. But misbehavior on his own with Pierce is one thing, and misbehavior in front of the new girl in town is something else. He's been a slave for three years and some now. He knows better. He really does.

Pierce leads them both upstairs, Sean in his left arm and Linda in his right. The staircase is more than wide enough to accommodate them, and both slaves are obedient as they make their way upstairs. Then it's Pierce's bedroom, and Pierce stands at the foot of the bed, considering his options.

"Stay here," he says. "Sean, put yourself in kneeling present. Show my girl how it's done." He leaves the room, and Sean goes fluidly to his knees.

"Nice," Linda approves. "You been at this long?" She takes to her knees beside them, and now they're both facing the foot of the bed, both with palms turned up on their knees. She looks perfectly comfortable in this position, and Sean resists the urge to give her a once-over, evaluating her kneel. It doesn't matter how good or bad she is at this. Pierce is going to use them against each other eventually.

"Only the three years and some I've been with Pierce," Sean says quietly. "And you?"

"I was a top once," Linda murmurs. "It didn't fit me."

"And you think this will?" Sean asks, intrigued despite himself.

"People look at me and they don't see a submissive," Linda says, still very quiet. "Pierce did. It was worth coming here to see if I really am."

 _Pierce sees submissives in everyone_ , Sean thinks, but he doesn't say it. "And if you're not?" he asks.

"Then you won't have to worry about me for very long, will you?"

"Your contract has an ending?" Sean asks, curious.

"Two months. Yours doesn't?"

"Whenever Pierce tires of me."

"Ahhh. You're one of _those_ boys." Linda shakes her head a little, gives him a small laugh. "You really aren't, though. Are you."

"One of _what_ boys?" Sean asks. "What do you mean by that?"

"He's coming." Linda straightens her posture, looking straight ahead. Sean follows suit, and then he hears Pierce's steps breaching the threshold of the room.

Pierce strides back in and leans against the footboard. He's holding a box. And it's not just any box; it's the box full of lengths of ribbon that Sean's collars have come from. Sean holds his breath to keep from having any reaction whatever; Linda's expression is openly curious.

"I think my girl needs something marking her as mine," Pierce says. He opens up the box, drops it on the foot of the bed while he selects something. He comes up with a spool of forest-green velvet, and snips a three-foot length of it before replacing the spool in the box. He comes around behind Linda, and she lifts her hair out of the way, taking her collaring very gracefully, much more gracefully than Sean did.

"Why are you here?" Pierce whispers.

"To give myself to you," Linda returns. "To go where you lead me."

"Good girl." Pierce leans down and kisses Linda on the temple, and Sean can feel an answering burn of anger in his skin.

They're nearly the same words Sean gave Pierce in the beginning. _To give myself to you. To become whatever you ask of me._ When he offered those words to Pierce, Pierce met him with sarcasm and cruelty; when Linda offered her words, she got praise. It's a double standard, and Sean's not surprised, somehow. Trust Pierce to do whatever hurts Sean the most.

"Undress me," Pierce says, coming to his feet. Both slaves follow, but Pierce catches Sean's eyes and points at the floor. "Not you."

"Thank you," Linda says softly. She stands, not as gracefully as Sean can stand from a kneeling position, but well enough, and she turns to Pierce, hands going to the waistband of his pants to untuck his shirt. She slides it out of his pants, and lifts it over his head, and it's only then that Sean notices her entire lack of formal voice -- not even so much as a _Master_ attached to her words. He can't imagine simply addressing Pierce casually. Every time he's done it, it's been to have a conversation out of role, or at least partially out of role.

He wonders whether it's a failing for her, or a credit. Can she not manage to say something like _Master_ with a straight face? Is the role so unnatural for her? Or is it just the opposite -- the role's so natural for her that she doesn't need formal voice to keep it in place?

"Give my clothes to the lad, lass; he knows what to do with them."

Linda's eyes flash; she was in the midst of folding Pierce's shirt when the order came to her. She doesn't argue, though; she hands the shirt off to Sean without even looking at him. Sean takes the shirt and folds it, and then looks up at Pierce to see if he should take it to the laundry hamper now or later. Pierce nods, so Sean assumes he means _now_. He comes to his feet, a bit too proud of his grace, and heads into the closet to drop the shirt in the appropriate hamper.

When he comes back, Linda's holding out Pierce's watch. Sean takes it with a slight deferent nod of his head, and goes back to the closet to put the watch among the rest of Pierce's jewelry. He's been in and out of the closet a great deal and is glad it's as large as it is; large, well-lit, mirrored, and surprisingly comfortable. There'd be room in it for a couch if Pierce were inclined to put one in. It doesn't bother Sean's claustrophobia much.

Back in Pierce's bedroom, Linda has Pierce's belt out of its loops, and that too gets handed to Sean. The closet again, and Sean finds the beginnings of resentment and annoyance lurking in his frame. Linda isn't any better at this particular brand of service than Sean is; he doesn't understand why she's getting the privilege of performing it and he isn't. Still, it's at Pierce's whim, as everything is. He comes back from the closet and finds her kneeling, Pierce's pants slid halfway down his legs as she follows the path with soft, sweet kisses, first one side, then the other.

Well, that's something Sean's never offered, but then, Pierce has never seemed interested. He's interested now, though, watching his girl intently, and he steps out of his pants when the time comes, his shoes and socks already off to one side. Sean gives a quietly pleading look to Pierce, but he doesn't take any notice. Sean walks off with shoes, socks, and pants in hand, and gets them put away as fast as humanly possible. All that's left now are Pierce's silk boxers, and when those are gone it'll be time to serve Pierce in other ways. _God, let him let me_ , he thinks, though he can't say as he's holding out much hope.

When he comes back, Linda's caressing her way up Pierce's legs, and her lips are just above his knee. Pierce reaches out a hand, about waist-height, fingers curved to imply he wants Sean's neck under them. Sean lets out a grateful sigh and goes to his knees at Linda's side -- maybe he has to share Pierce's attention now, but that's far better than having none of it at all. Pierce tightens his grip on the back of Sean's neck and draws his mouth forward, no foreplay, just rubs Sean's face against his cock and says "Suck me off."

Sean does, eagerly, but with the same tantalizing slowness Linda's showing as she makes her way up his legs. Pierce's grip tightens, and his hips thrust forward to carry him further into Sean's mouth. "That's my lad," he whispers. "My very good lad." And he begins to move, faster, harder, all but ignoring the touch of Linda's hands on his body. Sean notices when Linda moves around behind Pierce, standing and pressing gentle kisses up the length of Pierce's spine, but Pierce's attention is riveted on Sean, both hands coming up to make fists in Sean's hair. Sean moans with gratitude and keeps going, taking Pierce's cock in to the root, deepthroating him. The struggle to get him down that far is worth it; Pierce lets out a sharp gasp and then thrusts forward, and Sean feels the pulsing of Pierce's cock down his throat. He can't breathe. He doesn't care. He wants it, wants that sensation of choking, of giving Pierce his breath. He stays pressed against Pierce's body for as long as Pierce will allow it, and then Pierce pushes him away roughly, half-growling. "Bed," he says. "On your back."

Sean nods, and climbs up onto the bed. He puts himself flat on his back, with his arms above his head, looking over at Pierce and Linda. Pierce tugs Linda out from behind him and walks her over to the edge of the bed, drawing her hair aside and kissing the back of her neck. "You haven't earned the privilege of getting your mouth on me," he murmurs, "but if you please my boy with it, perhaps you will."

Sean doesn't so much as blink. It's a trick question. It has to be. Sean is _gay_ , and Pierce knows it. He's not interested in women, not even as a way to serve Pierce. Linda's never going to be able to draw strong responses out of Sean, no matter how good she gets with her mouth.

And that means sucking Pierce off is going to be Sean's job for the foreseeable future. Because Pierce wants it that way. Sean doesn't smile, doesn't even react, but he's been paid a compliment by his Master, and he's glad for it.

"Get undressed," Pierce tells Linda. He goes to the foot of the bed and takes out more ribbon, this time a spool of white ribbon about three-quarters of an inch wide. He cuts several long pieces of it and begins tying Sean's feet and hands to the bedframe, beckoning Sean to center himself in the bed before he gets started.

"If you can make him break any one of these, lass, you'll get the privilege of serving me breakfast in the morning. How does that sound?"

"It sounds delightful," Linda says. She's got her jacket and shirt off, and now she's sliding her pants down her hips, leaving her clad in panties and -- why in God's name, Sean doesn't know -- garters and stockings. He takes it in without much interest. "He doesn't look very twitchy, though."

"He's not. You'll have to work for this."

"He's cute. I don't mind."

"I'm not sure he thinks the same of you, lass. But do your best."

Linda lifts an eyebrow as she finishes slipping out of her clothes. "What do you like, Sean?" she asks.

"The same things most men like, I'd imagine." Sean leaves out the interest he has in choking; the last thing he wants is to find her with a strap-on down his throat, making him choke on _that_. He shrugs, hands still tethered to the bed with that ribbon. "Sucking me off's a good start."

She climbs up on the bed and kneels between his legs, and her hair falls over her face as she leans down and kisses his inner thighs. It doesn't do much for Sean, although he supposes it'll be nice getting a blowjob for the first time in... God, has it been _that_ long? He sighs lightly to himself. It _has_ been that long. Well, at least he'll enjoy it on an intellectual level.

Her mouth comes down over his cock, and it's not tentative at all. The intellectual interest is replaced by surprise and a bit of startled pleasure; he lets a soft grunt escape him before he thinks about the message he's sending versus the message he _wants_ to send. He goes silent, then, and still, and appreciates the hard, demanding suction she offers, the sharp, cruel sting of her teeth.

"How is she, lad?" Pierce asks.

"She's quite good, Master, although her technique would displease you, I suspect."

"Why's that?" Pierce sits down next to Sean and runs fingers through his hair.

"She has very sharp teeth, Master."

"Do you like her very sharp teeth, lad?"

Sean closes his eyes for a moment. He doesn't want to have to say yes, but he has no choice. "I do, Master," he murmurs.

"That's my lad. He's right, though, lass. I wouldn't care for very sharp teeth much."

And the teeth are gone, just like that, which makes Sean moan with disappointment. Pierce laughs quietly and tightens his grip on Sean's hair. "She used to be a top, you know. I could have her hurt you. Would you like that, lad?"

"I don't know, Master. I've never had a submissive girl hurt me before."

"That you haven't. But there's a first time for everything. Can she make you come, do you think?"

"Not this way, Master, no." Sean's glad to be able to say so; now that the teeth are gone, that unpleasant shimmering of lust and need is gone as well.

"But you think she _might_ ," Pierce presses.

"It's possible, Master, but not with what she's doing now."

"The teeth?" And the teeth return, with only that small hint, making Sean jump. He's in no danger of breaking his restraints, but he certainly will come if Pierce will let him.

"Yes, Master," Sean breathes. The rock-steady tone of his voice from before is gone. Damn.

"Well, then," Pierce nods. "Give him all the pain he can stand, lass, and see if he'll come for you."

Linda moans, and the shock of the vibration runs all the way up Sean's spine. He holds himself rigid as she uses her tongue and her teeth and the vibrations in her mouth to bring him up to the edge, and then clenches his teeth hard as she pushes him over it, her tongue coaxing the come from him in hot, hard jets.

The ribbons don't break, though, and when the orgasm's over and Linda is kneeling up between Sean's legs, Sean relaxes. Pierce gives his hair a rough tug and then follows it with a rough pat on the head. "You'll be seeing to my breakfast in the morning, lad. My girl's as well."

"Yes, Master." Sean looks up at Linda. "Any special dietary requirements?"

"Just don't spit in my food," Linda says dryly. "The rest doesn't matter."


	24. Strain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierce's girl used to top. Maybe she'd never have thought about topping Sean if he didn't hate her so much.

She's been sleeping in Pierce's bed. Sean, as usual, has been sleeping alone in his room. Maybe he should have predicted this; maybe not. The fact remains that Pierce's girl is getting everything Sean's been working to earn since Pierce took him on, and _fuck_ that's not fair. Not that Sean expects things to be fair; things around here aren't designed that way.

She doesn't like him. Fine; the feeling's mutual. She doesn't like sharing Pierce's attention; Sean doesn't much care for it, either, although he at least takes small comfort in the fact that he isn't missing much. It's not as if he was getting a great deal of attention from Pierce before she got here. And some things haven't changed. Sucking Pierce off is entirely Sean's domain. Linda still hasn't earned the right to prepare a meal for Pierce. And Sean still has his place at Pierce's feet during meals. Linda prefers to sit at the table, next to Pierce, with room to glare at Sean when Pierce isn't looking.

Pierce isn't a fool, though, and he's noticed the animosity between his slaves. It's been a week, and he's neither tried to make things better nor tried to make them worse. He's played them against each other some, but they seem to have different strengths in general -- Sean likes pain, can never seem to have too much of it, and Linda... Sean isn't sure what she wants. It's not pain; he's never seen her with a bruise. It's not humiliation; there have been enough opportunities for that, and Pierce's scathing remarks have always been reserved for Sean. If Sean didn't know better, he'd think Linda was shy. But shyness is unbecoming in a slave... and whatever else she is, she belongs to Pierce. Her green velvet collar's been replaced with green satin, with the same hooks and eyes as are on Sean's collar.

"Do you know where he comes by these?" Linda asks Sean one afternoon. They're alone for the time being, Pierce having gone off to lunch with business associates. Neither one knows when to expect him back, and Sean, for his part, almost doesn't care. Linda tucks a finger into Sean's collar and tugs, and Sean's lips curl up in mild disgust -- it's the only way he can cover for the hard twist of lust that runs up his spine -- while he pulls away.

"Has them made, I assumed," Sean mumbles. He hates talking to her. Maybe it's that she was once a top, maybe it's that he doesn't know how to stake his claim on Pierce, but he's felt second-place to her since she got here.

" _Makes_ them," Linda corrects. "He sews the hooks and eyes on himself."

Sean tries to picture Pierce with a needle and thread in his hands and can't get the mental image to form. "Does he?" he asks.

"He does. It's his way of stamping his ownership on us. I never went to this much trouble for a slave; I had a connection to a jeweler's, and had locking collars made up." Linda's eyes narrow and focus on Sean. "And what will you do, when the boys are yours to train?"

Sean's shocked expression isn't faked in the least. "I don't want boys of my own," he murmurs.

"Well, you obviously have no use for girls," Linda points out. "I wondered why you'd lasted over three years here. Pierce's boys never last that long, you know."

Sean didn't know. He's never wanted to ask about Pierce's former boys. Having met one of them is bad enough.

"No interest in topping whatsoever?" Linda asks, smiling to herself.

"It's not in me," Sean says. "I learned that long before I came to live here."

"Does _Pierce_ know that?" Linda asks.

"I can't see how he wouldn't. It's why he took me."

"Is it?" That small smile keeps playing around Linda's lips, and Sean feels the urge, more than anything, to shake it out of her.

"Do you think we didn't talk at all before we had the contract drawn up?"

"I think you don't have the faintest idea what you're here for," Linda says. "But that's all right. Confused boys are easier to outwit."

Sean doesn't like the sound of that. Doesn't like it at all. But he has little enough to say to her in general, and nothing to say to her now, and so he goes quiet.

"I could like you, you know," she murmurs. "My problem is that I wanted to be under Pierce, and you got to him first. I don't like coming in second, and I don't think you two are really suited to each other."

Sean can't really disagree with that, but he's not going to tell her so. He shrugs. "It was your choice to come here," he says.

"You aren't happy with him. It shows in your face." Linda runs a hand down his shoulder. "You could get him to turn you out, if you wanted."

"Your contract with him lasts for how long, lass? Two months?" Sean shakes his head, but doesn't bother trying to pull away from her touch. "You're not going to want to stay, either, and you'll have an out. Don't think you'll take it?"

"I don't know yet." Linda shrugs. "I think I'm a bit bored while Pierce is gone. Why don't you entertain me?"

Sean shakes his head. "Get yourself a book if you want entertainment. I'm not here for you."

She gives him an appraising look. "You don't much care for women, do you, Sean?"

"I don't much care," Sean answers. "That's about the size of it."

"Hm." She folds her hands and rests her chin on them, and Sean doesn't like the look on her face at all.

"What are you thinking?" Sean asks.

"You'll find out sooner or later."

It's stunning how easy it is for her to rattle him. Sean takes to his feet and wanders upstairs to his room. Whatever it is she's planning, he suspects it's going to wait until Pierce is back. Until then, he doesn't have to deal with her.

* * * * *

When Pierce gets home, Sean is in the kitchen preparing dinner. He has no idea where Linda is, and honestly doesn't give a damn. Pierce comes through the kitchen on his way in from the garage and bites at Sean's shoulder as he goes past. "My lad," he murmurs.

"Master," Sean returns, smiling. It's a good way to be greeted.

Pierce heads out of the kitchen then, undoubtedly looking for his girl. Sean tries not to care, and ends up coming close to scorching dinner as a result.

Dinner, too, is uneventful, and Pierce lets Linda feed Sean by hand. It's disconcerting for Sean, wondering what the purpose of such a display can possibly be, and yet it's also oddly arousing. It's not Linda, it's Pierce, and the way he's watching them together. His eyes are warm and approving, and they feel good.

"All right, lass," Pierce murmurs. "If you still want him, he's yours."

Sean nearly chokes on a sip of water. He glances from one to the other of them, but no explanation seems forthcoming. The rest of dinner passes in nerve-wracking quiet for Sean. His appetite disappears, overwhelmed by the fear of whatever it is Linda has planned.

After dinner, Linda takes care of the dishes, space bar and Pierce beckons Sean closer, bending Sean forward so his head rests against Pierce's thigh. "I've agreed to give you to her for a few hours. You'll have your chance for revenge if you want it."

"How kind of you, master," Sean mutters. The sarcasm isn't lost on Pierce, but he doesn't seem to care, either.

"Do you think I haven't been wanting to watch you together?" Pierce asks. "I was terribly surprised when she asked for you. Would have suited me better if you'd asked for her, but there's time for that."

"Bring home a boy, master, and you've a far better chance of it," Sean mutters. Pierce laughs and ruffles an affectionate hand through Sean's hair.

When Linda comes back into the dining room, she takes to her knees behind Sean. Her fingernails run up his back in a tickling scratch, and Sean holds position only with effort.

"He really is very pretty," Linda murmurs. "And he can't stand me. I love that."

Her teeth sink into the base of his neck, and Sean shudders hard, fingers flexing on his knees.

"Where do you want him?" Pierce asks.

Linda takes no time whatever thinking about it, which makes Sean think he should worry. "In the back room," she answers. "I want his arms up over his head."

 _What does she want with me?_ Sean wonders. Something with his arms up over his head -- the picture snaps into place all at once. _God. She's going to hurt me._

Sean doesn't want to take pain from her. If she's any good at all -- and between her fingers and her teeth, he suspects she is -- she'll draw reactions from him that he doesn't want to give her. He looks up at Pierce, who's no help at all; he's watching them both with altogether too much interest in his eyes. Sean would beg if he thought it would do any good. He knows better.

"Up, lad," Pierce says. He gestures toward the back of the house, and Sean goes, not bothering to try any delays. When the three of them get there, Sean glances up at the chain hanging from a pair of hooks in the ceiling; he waits for Pierce to get cuffs attached, and then goes to the center of the room, ready to be strapped in.

"Not so fast, lad," Linda says. "Get your clothes off first."

Sean doesn't even bother glaring -- no point to it -- and turns away as he strips out of his pants. He's going to be taking a rather hard beating, he can see that much, and the flavor of anticipation running up his spine is unfamiliar and unpleasant. He's not hard yet, though; at least that's something.

Pierce puts him in the cuffs and cups the back of his neck in one hand. "Make a good show of it, lad," Pierce says. Sean nods once, sharply, and closes his eyes. Pierce lets him get away with it.

"I'm going to want a count, lad," Linda says. Sean can hear her shaking out one of Pierce's floggers. Her movements sound slower than Pierce's, more deliberate. Graceful, perhaps. Sean is torn between wanting to flinch away and wanting, badly, to let go and feel the need for pain take him over.

"I don't want her calling me 'lad'," Sean murmurs to Pierce.

"Why's that?" Pierce asks. He runs a hand down Sean's arm, from wrist to shoulder, and then goes back to holding the back of Sean's neck. He doesn't sound particularly interested in the answer.

"Because that's yours," Sean says. "I only want it to come from you."

Pierce nods thoughtfully for a few seconds, then leans in and kisses Sean firmly on the mouth. "All right, lad. That's mine and no one else's. Lass? You're clear on that?"

"Crystal," Linda says, which is good enough for Sean.

Pierce steps away, and Sean hears the faint rush of tails through the air. "Count for me," she says, and starts him off.

Her strokes are slow, very deliberate, and she gets a quiet count and a "thank you, Ma'am" for each of them. Nothing more elaborate. It's good enough, apparently; Linda goes on to give him twenty hard, graceful strokes, which is enough to turn his skin red and more than enough to get him hard.

At twenty, Linda puts the flogger away, and Sean feels fingertips cold and slick with lube probing at his opening. Linda presses in, hard and steady, fingertips twisting up and curling to send sparks traveling up his spine.

"No," Sean gasps; his body's saying nothing of the kind, though, and he arches back into her touch.

"You know you don't get to say that with me, boy," Linda warns. The press of her fingers becomes more insistent. "You don't get to say no."

"Master, please," Sean begs, "please, not like this..."

"Not like what, lad?" But Pierce steps in close again and wraps a hand around Sean's cock, and the touch is a great enough relief that Sean moans, head falling back.

Pierce leans further forward, and Linda steps up on her toes; their lips meet over Sean's shoulder for a brief fraction of a second. "Good lass," Pierce says, his hand beginning to work Sean's cock. "Let's get him screaming."

Then there are hands on Sean, one small and delicate, one larger and every bit as certain. It's not difficult to tell them apart, though as Linda thrusts in and out of Sean's arse and Piece gives long, twisting strokes of Sean's cock, it becomes more difficult for Sean to care.

Linda's free hand snakes around Sean's chest and tweaks at a nipple. Pierce takes the other, but doesn't try any subtlety, preferring simply to twist hard, so hard Sean screams in shock.

"Does my lad like that?" Pierce asks. "Do you like screaming for me?"

"Yes," Sean gasps, choking it out on a half-sob. "Please, Master, your lad's close."

"Is he, now," Linda asks. "You're being fucked by a girl and you're close? That must rattle you."

Sean ignores her, blinking hard to keep his eyes open and steady on Pierce. "Master, please, your lad's begging to come."

"Beg my lass," Pierce says. "She deserves it."

She does, and Sean knows it. It shouldn't be difficult, but the things she's said, the way she knows how hard it is for him to ask her for anything at all -- he can't. Not yet.

"Beg my lass," Pierce repeats, voice harder.

"I can send him over whether he wants to go or not," Linda says, twisting her fingers inside him.

Sean grunts -- she's not wrong. And that knowledge is what finally gets him begging. He doesn't want to know what Pierce will let her do to him if she makes him come without permission. "Please, Ma'am, this slave begs to come."

"All right," Linda agrees. "Come now, boy."

Sean does, and it's agony and bliss put together, relief and humiliation combined. He hates being at Linda's mercy, but God, it's good to feel the release of orgasm, the hot burning rush of it flaring bright for a moment before he comes crashing back to Earth.

"Like that?" Linda murmurs. Her fingers press in hard, and Sean gasps, trying to pull away from her. "Should we make a habit of it, Sean?"

Sean's too exhausted to think clearly. He closes his eyes, shakes his head no. Linda sighs as she withdraws her fingers, raking them hard over his prostate as she goes.

"Too bad," she sighs. "I'm good with a knife. You'd look beautiful bleeding for me..."

"You don't get that," Pierce snaps. Sean blinks his eyes open in surprise, but Piece is staring hard at Linda, making sure he has her attention. "You don't get his blood, lass."

"As you please, Master," Linda murmurs.

Pierces protectiveness, unexpected though it is, feels good. Sean tips his head forward in gratitude, and Pierce brings his hand up to Sean's mouth, lifting an eyebrow. Sean takes the come off Pierce's hand with grateful, eager licks, and Pierce hums softly in satisfaction.

"Such a good lad," he murmurs. "I can't wait to see what you do when it's your turn."


	25. Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Pierce expects Sean to top. The results are not pretty.

Only what Sean does when it's his turn is nothing at all. Revenge hardly strikes him as the appropriate response to what he got at Linda's hands, and he certainly doesn't want to offer tenderness. He's never handled a flogger in his life, not that he thinks she'd like pain. About the only thing that's come to mind so far is letting her have the kitchen for a while, and he hasn't quite worked up the humility to do that yet.

Tonight she's on the floor at Pierce's feet, as is Sean; Pierce is in his armchair, feet up on the ottoman, and each of his slaves flanks one side or the other of him, his hands resting lightly on their shoulders.

"Time's up, lad," Pierce says. He doesn't explain the statement. He hasn't been timing Sean on anything in particular, to Sean's knowledge, so it makes little sense. Sean doesn't ask what Pierce means; he'll find out sooner or later, and at the moment, better to delay if possible.

"Lass, out of your clothes. I want your chest over the footstool. Lad, go to the bedroom and fetch a condom. A few," he amends. "And walk, lad, don't crawl."

Worse than Sean expected. Crawling is a privilege, and it's one he's not being afforded today. He leaves as Linda stands and begins stripping neatly out of her clothes. Apart from the collar, she's kept her street clothes, as opposed to Sean, who's generally clad only in trousers, often jeans, at home. Broadly speaking, Sean is treated like a slave far more than Linda is. He's never sure whether this should bother him or not.

He comes back with a handful of condoms and a small tube of lubricant, and kneels at Pierce's side to present them. Pierce is as Sean left him, though he's moved his feet off the ottoman to accommodate Linda. When Sean kneels, Pierce clamps a hand to the back of his neck.

"I've waited long enough for your move, lad," Pierce says. "Time to make it. Fuck her."

Linda comes up off the ottoman, and her expression is as furious as Sean's is stunned. "No," she says evenly. "I won't have it."

Pierce ignores her, eyes on Sean. "Take a condom, bend her over, and fuck her. Now."

"I -- don't," Sean stammers, then, "I can't." His body agrees entirely; he's not hard, and doesn't anticipate getting hard under these particular orders.

"And I _won't_ ," Linda says. "We agreed. Not unless I make the first move."

"The beating and the way your fingers coaxed the come from him, lass -- I'd say that's a fair first move."

"That's not how I meant it," Linda says. She's gone white, and she's still kneeling up, face furious. "We all know that's not how I meant it."

"You didn't mean to open relations between you and my lad?" Pierce asks. "You didn't mean to make him an offer?"

Linda's mouth tightens; she can tell she's being backed into a corner. Still, there's no help for it, and she shakes her head.

Pierce's hand comes up and grips her by the throat. She goes rigid. "You meant to hurt him. Humiliate him. My lad, who's been mine and loyal for nearly four years. This was your intent?"

Stunned, all but defeated, Linda nods her head yes.

Pierce lets her go and turns to Sean. "And how did you take it, what my lass gave you? Did it please you?"

Sean searches for the answer that has the greatest chance of getting both of them out of this. "It was a gift, Master. Your girl knows I enjoy pain. She offered me pain and brought me to orgasm. If revenge is required for that, your girl ought to get in line behind a number of others."

"A gift," Pierce muses. "She meant it to hurt; you took it as a gift. Christ, you both try my patience."

"This slave apologizes, Master--"

"I'm sorry, Pierce--"

"Quiet. Both of you," Pierce snaps. He points at Linda. "Chest down. Don't argue. Are you mine or not?"

"I'm yours," Linda says quietly, going to her chest, "but I'm not his, and I don't want this."

"I don't want it, either," Sean says. "Which brings me to a difficulty, Master, for which I apologize--"

"Does your cock need coaxing, then?" Pierce grins. "How do you prefer, Sean?" He leans forward. "Shall I use my hands on you? My mouth?" He reaches out and unfastens Sean's jeans with one hand. "I know the lass of herself doesn't interest you. But think what you'll get for doing this for me. My hands or my mouth, as they please you, and afterwards I'll hurt you until you can barely breathe from it."

It's a hell of a promise, but it does little to persuade Sean's body that it's worthwhile to take an unwilling woman. Pierce crooks a finger and beckons Sean over, then, and wraps a warm, firm hand around his cock.

That gets its attention; Sean winces, feeling a bit betrayed. Piece is pleased, at least, and after he's stroked Sean to attention, he leans forward and fits his mouth over Sean's cock.

Sean goes quite still; despite the offer, despite the promise, it's only now that Pierce is sucking lightly at him that he believes what's happening to him. Sean moans quietly and whispers his thanks, and Pierce keeps up his maddeningly slow pace until Sean's breath comes from him in long, fast pants.

Pierce pulls back. "I think you could take her now," he says.

"Please, Master, I don't want to," Sean whispers.

"Have you wanted to do all the things you've done while you've been mine?" Pierce asks.

"This is different," Sean murmurs. "She doesn't want it. Do you know what it would be?"

"Lad," Pierce says, then, "lass," and he pauses, looking from one to the other. "You both gave me your consent when you agreed to be mine. I've had enough delay. Now's the time, lad."

Sean closes his eyes, then nods and stands up, climbing out of his jeans. He goes to his knees behind Linda and takes a condom, rolling it over his cock. "I'm sorry--" he begins.

Linda cuts him off. "Don't give me that shit," she growls. "You can say no to him, Sean."

Sean pauses, then leans forward and puts a hand in her hair, tugging back hard. It's the kind of move he hasn't made in years, not since before Pierce, not since the days when everyone he met expected him to top. "You're a fucking poor excuse for a slave if you think that's so," Sean growls back at her, and his other hand goes between them, fitting his cock against her opening, lining himself up so he can slide in with one hard, angry thrust.

"...kill you," Linda breathes, "I'm going to fucking kill both of you for this." Her hands are tight on the underside of the ottoman, nearly tearing the fabric.

Sean pulls back and thrusts in harder. "Shut up," he breathes, "just fucking shut up, _lass_ , I've been hearing too goddamned much from you since you got here."

"You son of a--"

Sean's hand moves from her hair to her throat, and squeezes tight. It chokes off all the sound she was going to make, the protests she might have had in mind. "He was mine, and if he didn't love me at least he knew I was his slave. His boy. His lad. And then there was you." The movements of his hips must be painful, are rocking her hard into the ottoman, and there are tiny, choked whimpers coming from her throat. He can feel her pulse against his hand, the vibrations of her throat that would translate to noise if she could breathe well enough to make them.

"Good lad," Pierce whispers, and he comes off the armchair, beginning to make a slow circle around both of them. "Let her breathe, now, Sean."

And there's his name again. Now, when the last three weeks of misery have had Sean wondering if Pierce has forgotten him, if he's going to be turned loose at any moment. Now, when Sean's venting his rage at Linda, fucking her hard enough to hurt her, wanting to choke the breath from her as he does it. It doesn't make any _sense_ , but there it is, and it feels as good as it feels wrong. Sean lets Linda's throat go altogether, and leans forward, resting his forearm across her back to keep her pinned down.

"Beautiful," Pierce murmurs. He runs a hand down Sean's spine and presses two dry fingers between his cheeks, teasing at his entrance. "You're beautiful when you're letting yourself feel, Sean."

 _Letting yourself feel._ That's exactly what Sean's doing -- letting himself feel the hurt, letting the rage and confusion out of his system. He's fucking it into Linda, using her to earn his catharsis. She's stopped fighting, now, and is lying rigid under him, silent except for loud, harsh breaths as he takes her.

"Come for me, Sean," Pierce murmurs. His fingertips are just inside Sean now, just holding, not thrusting, and Sean moans softly, wanting more.

"Master, please--"

"Come _now_ , Sean."

He thinks he might have been able to do it on command if Pierce had said _lad_. With his name on Pierce's lips, it takes Sean several rough, furious thrusts before he can come, shouting hoarsely over Linda's back as he does.

Pierce climbs back into his armchair, unfastening his pants, and takes his cock out. He slicks lube over it, a few rough, fast, passes, and then grabs Sean by the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Get up. I'm not done with you yet."

Sean climbs onto Pierce's lap, and Pierce tugs an arm around Sean's waist, settling Sean down so he's facing away from Pierce. Pierce presses in hard, no foreplay, no waiting, and Sean cries out, half in surprise, half in pleasure. "Thank you," he whispers, "Master, thank you..."

"Shut up," Pierce hisses, and he bites hard at the nape of Sean's neck.

Sean doesn't say a word; he lets his eyes close as Pierce fucks him, rocking up into him and holding him close with that arm around his waist. When Pierce reaches around to twist Sean's nipple, Sean can't help crying out. The pain stops immediately, and Sean grits his teeth to keep from making any more sound.

"Are your eyes closed, Sean?" Pierce whispers. Sean blinks them open, panting, gasping for breath--

\--and there's Linda, just as he left her, only her head's buried in her hands, and her shoulders are shaking.

 _Fuck_. It jars Sean out of the moment, despite how good Pierce feels fucking him. _Fuck twice._ A part of Sean had thought for certain all her protests were another act, another way she was trying to hurt him and humiliate him and manipulate him. Another plan that Linda and Pierce had worked out beforehand, getting Sean to indulge one of Linda's fantasies.

And a part of him simply hadn't cared. Had hated her enough to fuck her anyway, despite the way she was cursing at him.

Sean goes still. Keeping quiet on Pierce's lap is easy, even when Pierce gives a vicious twist to his nipple and surges up hard, biting down on his shoulder as he comes.

 _I tried to tell you I was sorry and you didn't want to hear it,_ he thinks. _And you were right. I wasn't sorry, then._ He closes his eyes again, and Pierce shoves him roughly off his lap, pushing Sean to the floor at his side.

"Both of you. My bed. Now."

Linda comes up off the ottoman, impatiently brushing tears from her face with the back of one hand. Sean waits for her to start moving before he follows her into the bedroom. There are no footsteps following them; Pierce is taking a few moments for cleanup or composure or something else altogether.

Whatever it is, they have a moment alone, and Sean takes advantage of it. He grabs Linda by the upper arm. She doesn't fight him.

"Give me five minutes alone with him in the morning and I can make certain he never does that to us again," he whispers.

Her eyes snap to his, and she glares at him. "You seemed to enjoy yourself--"

He doesn't protest, but he doesn't have time to argue with her. "Five minutes. You can trust me or not. It's up to you."

She jerks her arm away from him and stumbles to the bed. "Fuck you," she mutters.

Footsteps; Sean follows Linda into the bed, climbing under the covers. He hasn't slept at Pierce's side in months, and the last time he did it was only because Pierce had chained him to the bedframe and didn't care to let him up before going to sleep.

Pierce walks in and nods at both of them, and then makes his way to one of his dressers. Sean's heart sinks a bit as Pierce comes back with a chain again; if Pierce chains Sean to Linda, or locks her to the bedframe, he's not going to get that five minutes whether Linda's willing to give it to him or not.

He doesn't, though. Pierce locks Sean down, with a long heavy chain that has nearly six feet of give to it, but he leaves Linda free. He slides into bed between them, and tucks himself in behind Linda, gesturing for Sean to spoon in against his back.

"My pets," Pierce murmurs. "You did very well today. Both of you."

He doesn't get an answer from either of them, and it's a very long time before all three of them are asleep.

* * * * *

A small elbow jabs Sean hard in the ribs, and then a weight rolls on top of him. Fingers are pressed to his lips.

" _Hsst_." It's not a word, barely even a noise. Sean gets his eyes open and sees Linda above him, her fingers over his mouth to keep him from saying anything. She glances over to the other side of the bed -- Pierce is still sleeping -- and then climbs out of the bed altogether.

 _Give me five minutes alone with him in the morning and I can make certain he never does that to us again._

Linda slips out of the bedroom, and Sean wastes no time. He's still chained to the bed, wrists together, not much give between them, but enough. Barely.

He hauls himself up and over Pierce, and his left hand clamps down hard on Pierce's throat while he straddles Pierce's hips. Pierce comes awake all at once, and both hands go up to pry Sean's hand away from his throat.

Sean doesn't go anywhere. His grip tightens until he feels Pierce starting to strain under him, until Pierce's grip goes slack. That's good enough. He loosens the grip so Pierce won't pass out from the lack of bloodflow, and makes sure Pierce's eyes are on his.

"Are you listening to me?" Sean whispers. "Are you ready to hear what I have to tell you?"

Pierce sets his jaw. He doesn't say a word.

"I thought, when we started this, that you could ask anything of me. That there was nothing I wouldn't give you. But if you ever try to make me force myself on anyone again, I'll walk. There are some things a Master can't ask of his slaves. This is one of them."

Pierce waits a few seconds, then asks, "Are you done?"

"Do we understand each other?" Sean asks, tightening his grip just a fraction.

Pierce clenches his jaw; Sean can feel it under his fingers. Sean loosens his grip again.

"We're in agreement," Pierce says. "Get off me. _Now_."

Sean rolls off Pierce, and keeps his eyes open while Pierce recovers. Whatever he gets from this, he'll take gladly. _We're in agreement._ Anything else will be worth it.

Pierce slides out of bed and finds the key to Sean's cuffs. He unlocks Sean, then points at the bathroom. "Go," he says. "Shower."

Sean stares at Pierce for a few seconds, and then goes. He's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

* * * * *

The hours tick past, and Sean's back becomes so sore from tension that he winces when he moves. Pierce hasn't threatened him, hasn't told him what his punishment's going to be, hasn't so much as spoken to him. He's taken his eyes away, but that hardly seems like adequate punishment for what Sean did.

 _You did it to make a point. Did you also want him to punish you?_ Sean asks himself. And he's forced to answer _Yes_ , which bothers him. It's not the most mature way to get Pierce's attention on him, but it's often the most certain. Pierce is by turns both frustrating and predictable.

Sean hasn't seen Linda since she crawled out of bed. He doesn't know what he'd say if he had to face her, so maybe it's just as well. He's tried to carry out his duties for Pierce as usual. Breakfast was ready on time. Lunch was ready on time.

At dinner, Linda's absence is particularly conspicuous, and Sean can't contain his curiosity.

"Master?"

"Mm?"

"Your boy wonders where your girl might be."

"Upstairs. In her room. She asked for a day where she wouldn't have to see you, and I didn't want you out of arm's reach until I decided what to do to you."

 _Ah_. Punishment _is_ forthcoming, then, and Sean relaxes slightly. "Yes, Master," he murmurs. "Your boy will take his punishment gratefully."

"You'd better," Pierce says. "I think I've decided."

"Yes, Master," Sean murmurs. "Thank you, Master."

But nothing else comes, and dinner passes quietly for both of them.

 _Tense_ , Sean thinks. _Not nervous_. He's not, though maybe he should be. The trouble with Pierce -- and the longer he's here, the longer he realizes this -- is that he's been content to _stop_ at a certain point. Whatever it is he wants or needs from his boy, Sean either offered it a long time ago or isn't able to offer it at all. When Linda came, he wondered if it was the latter; now he's not sure of anything. But he _is_ certain that Pierce isn't going to push him far enough. With Linda, he got pushed too far; apart from that, though, what could Pierce do to him?

 _Nothing_ , Sean realizes. _I don't belong with him._

After dinner, Pierce takes Sean back to the bedroom. He keeps his eyes off Sean's while he directs Sean to lean over the bed.

He tells Sean not to speak, and Sean wonders whose benefit that's for. He gives Sean a dozen hard stripes with the cane, a tool that's welcome and familiar but nowhere near familiar enough, and Sean doesn't speak. Doesn't move. Doesn't cry out, not even when the beating's over and Pierce fucks him, hard, until he nearly collapses from it.

It's not until he's back in his own room, back in his own bed, that he lets himself have any reaction at all. And the reaction is to stare up at the ceiling and wonder whether there's any way out of this.

* * * * *

She's done it again. She's gotten what Sean's been praying for. At least this time he knows it's the last.

Sean watches as Linda packs her belongings. Pierce isn't here to see it, and Sean doesn't know why. He expected Pierce to have a number of hurtful comments regarding Linda's lack of commitment. Instead, he sent Sean in to say goodbye if he wanted, and Sean did.

"Did you know from the beginning?" he asks.

"Did I know what, Sean?"

"That you were going to leave him when the two months were up." Sean picks at an imaginary spot of lint on Linda's bedcovers while she packs. "Did you know coming into it that you'd be going now?"

"I didn't know anything," Linda says, tucking away another shirt. "Now I do."

Sean nods, shakes his head; he can't find the right words for the way he's feeling, let alone the right movements. "Is it close?" he asks, sounding genuinely curious.

"To what I need?" Linda fills in. "Submission, you mean?"

"No -- perhaps, I suppose, but I meant here. What you've gotten in this house, with Pierce. Is it at all close to what you need?"

Linda finishes with the packing, zips her suitcase up and places it on the floor. She's only got the one, though that's more than Sean thinks he would leave with if he could somehow get out of this.

"No, it's not," she says. "Not any more than it is for you."

Sean winces but doesn't argue. Can't argue.

"Why do you stay with him?" she asks. "Was the outside world so much worse than this?"

"Yes," Sean says simply.

The expression on her face is openly sympathetic, and Sean doesn't trust it. But when her hand comes out to cup his cheek, he relaxes, just a bit, and lets her caress his skin. She's going. He doesn't have to hate her anymore.

"You're not happy here," she says.

"I'm not, no," Sean says softly. "But I can't leave."

"Sure you can," Linda says. "You take off the strip of ribbon, and you tell him you're done. You find another master. One who won't neglect you or hate you or force you to be what you're not."

"He's said he's never going to let me go to someone else."

"Do you honestly think he could stop you? He doesn't know everyone."

"It's a moot point," Sean says. The conversation hurts, and it's confusing, and he doesn't want to deal with it. "I can't go."

"You _choose_ not to go. He only owns you as much as you let him."

Sean shakes his head. "It doesn't work that way."

Linda rests against the bed and crosses her arms over her chest. She tilts her head a bit, but doesn't speak.

"It's not supposed to work that way," Sean whispers.

Linda leans forward and runs fingers through Sean's hair. Her eyes are sad. He thinks it might be the first unguarded expression he's seen on her.

"I'm sorry," she says. "You could do better."

Sean looks away. Her sympathy hurts, and he wonders if that's why she's offering it. "I don't deserve better," he whispers.

"Maybe not," Linda says. "Goodbye, Sean."

Sean offers to carry her bags to her car, but Linda shakes him off. He watches her go from the front window, and closes the curtains as her car disappears down the drive.


	26. Ardor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean goes to New Zealand. This far away from Pierce, he can cheat. He can take up with a stuntman. He can hide from the way he's been looking at the new Aragorn.

"I want you to go."

Sean keeps his eyes lowered. Pierce doesn't ask him to give them back, and Sean is relieved. He wants this badly, and doesn't want to risk losing it if Pierce suddenly decides to be cruel. "Do you?" he asks. It's a quiet, noncommittal response, and he hopes it doesn't betray his desire for the role.

"You've been no good to me here," Pierce says. Sean refrains from pointing out that it was Pierce's choice not to make much use of him in the months since Linda's been gone. "You should go. See what kind of use you can make of yourself while you're gone."

"If it pleases Master," Sean murmurs, "I'm supposed to be there in three weeks."

"Then maybe you should get packed and go now," Pierce says. "Get yourself a head start. You'll need it."

And this is how Sean ends up on a plane to New Zealand three weeks early, with thirty hours of nervousness mixed with resentment to look forward to. _I'm not going to miss you_ , he thinks. _Not this time._

It's true enough at first. New Zealand is beautiful, and Sean has more than enough on his mind without wondering how Pierce is getting on back in London. The cast is so friendly; he's never alone. Sean's spent more time alone in the last three and some years; as uncomfortable as he is around so many affectionate, happy people, as hard as it is to learn how to relate to people on a normal, friendly basis all over again, he's grateful for their company. There are hobbits and elves, stunt people, artists, crew members, and the general population of New Zealand seems to be involved with the movie in some way or another. Everyone's beginning to work on sword training. Costuming is taking inordinate amounts of time. Sean's had so much to do he hasn't had time to miss Pierce, and he wasn't told to call home every day -- or even every week.

A year ago he might have been sorry about that. Now it's just good not having to worry about what he'll say to Pierce when he calls home.

New Zealand is beautiful. Tranquil. On the rare occasion when Sean actually wants to be alone, he can drive out for an hour and end up surrounded by scenery he never expected to see outside of travel photography books.

 _I could be happy here,_ he thinks. _This is going to be my life for the next year. And I could love it._

There's something in the back of his mind that knows he's going to have to go back to Pierce eventually. But being here is a bit like being out of time. Out of reality. It's a fairy tale, in a number of ways, and Sean is determined to let himself sink into it.

There's so much flirting here, so much affection. People seem to roll in and out of each other's beds entirely at whim, something Sean barely remembers from before his days with Pierce. He's gotten offers, ones that were subtle enough that he wasn't sure if they were really being made, ones that were nothing remotely resembling subtle. And mostly he's said no.

Mostly.

There's a stuntman named Gregory that Sean's been spending quite a bit of time with. He's a native, and his accent's gorgeous. Sean could listen to him for hours. Gregory collects poetry, and he has talented hands. And he tops without asking if it needs to be otherwise, and when Sean's mouth is between his legs, he puts hands in Sean's hair and guides his head where and how he wants it.

He seems to know a number of things without asking. He knows Sean doesn't want to let their relationship, such as it is, out in the open. He knows Sean won't spend the night at his place, but that Sean won't kick him out if they're over at Sean's. He knows it settles Sean a bit to make breakfast for both of them in the morning, if Gregory's spent the night, and he knows there are times when Sean can't look at him, can't speak to him. He's never been cruel about it, giving Sean his space without commenting.

Sean still feels he's being unfair to Gregory. But Gregory's not complaining, and it's so much easier not to talk. What could Sean tell him? _I have a lover, and he's more than that. I'm owned, and what I'm doing here -- if I have to face what I'm doing, my world will fall down around itself._

He wonders if Gregory's had other lovers who've told him similar things. If not talking is a way for men to deal with the roles they have to play with each other. There are so many things he can't say, and he wonders if Gregory has a number of things he couldn't say, either.

There's a new Aragorn in town. Sean did say hello to the old one a few times, a nod here and there when they ran into each other, and he doesn't know what sent him off and brought the new one in, but he's curious. Most of them are. Everyone else has had weeks to get used to each other, to form friendships and figure out where they fit in the Fellowship, and now there's a new element. Sean's expecting to offer friendship and companionship -- another Man in the cast is certainly a good thing -- but he doesn't know when their paths are going to cross. At the moment, he's off to see Gregory at the barracks where the fight training takes place; there's some kind of last-minute practice going on now, and after that they're going to spend the evening at home. Sean promised Gregory a bath and a massage, and Gregory countered with an offer of poetry and wine.

 _I could be happy here._

There's screaming coming from the barracks, but that's nothing new. It's hard to get into the mind of a battling Orc without screaming, after all, and the laughter after the screams die down is a similarly welcome, familiar sound. Sean smiles in turn as he steps inside, wandering down to the practice room and taking up an unoccupied corner of the room to wait for his -- well, for Gregory.

"...all right, everyone, give the man some room to breathe." There's the stunt coordinator, getting the orcs-in-training to back off the man in the center of the maelstrom. Sean grins. He's seen sessions like this before: everyone running all at once at one person or another. Ostensibly it's to get the poor bastard in shape for filming, to practice larger, distracting battle sequences. More often, it works out to be a brawl and a way for people to gauge one another's strengths.

The men back off their target, and Sean gets his first look at him.

 _Christ._

This would be the new Aragorn, Sean realizes. The one with the odd name who signed on after a short afternoon's conversation with Peter. He wonders how long Aragorn's been in town, and whether anyone knows anything about him.

 _Christ, he's fucking beautiful._

Sean lets out a long breath between his teeth and watches as the free-for-all starts over, this time with a few barked directions from the coordinator. There are general good-natured laughs from everyone, a few serious questions from Aragorn.

 _Christ, that voice. Quiet, serious, focused. What do you sound like when your voice is sharp, Aragorn?_

Another round of fighting, and Aragorn does his best with it. He's learning so fast, some things without having to be told, some things that only have to be explained once. And God, the arc of movement, the awareness this man has, his ability to keep everyone under his eye at once, somehow--

Sean pushes himself off the wall, feeling dizzy. He heads out of the room and down the hall to the loo, where he washes his hands and splashes water against his face. There are images happening in his mind that he doesn't want there. Ones that are making him homesick for the first time since he got here.

 _All Sean can see is his wrists, suspended up over his head. His neck's tilted back and there are fingers twisted into his hair, holding him that way. There are fingers playing over the skin of his throat, and he doesn't want to beg for this, not yet. It's not supposed to be this easy._

But his fingers are patient, and he's willing to wait Sean out. The ghost of a touch against the center of his throat, and Sean's resolve shatters. He closes his eyes and whispers, "please, Master," and the hand cups his throat and holds him tight.

And it's just that touch on his throat and the grip in his hair, and he's ready to beg.

"Fuck me."

"Hurt me."

"Please."

"Sean?"

Sean opens his eyes, looking into the mirror at the man who's standing behind him. Gregory's done for the night, sweating, a bit flushed from his exertions, and Sean needs something. Needs something rough and hard and _right now_. His eyes are flashing, and Gregory knows exactly what Sean needs. He never has to ask.

"All right," Gregory whispers. "Come on."

He pulls Sean into the last stall and puts a fist in the front of Sean's shirt, tugging him down hard to his knees. His other hand reaches into his sweatpants and tugs his cock free, and he rests it against Sean's lips. "Suck me," he murmurs.

Sean closes his eyes, inhaling the scent of sweat and exercise. The feeling washes over him hard -- _yours, yes, even if it's only for the moments when I'm on my knees for you_ \-- and it's enough. It's good enough. He takes Gregory's cock into the back of his throat, and gives him teeth and suction and all the desperation he doesn't want to be feeling.

Gregory gives Sean exactly what he needs -- he rocks hard into Sean's mouth, both hands fisted hard in Sean's hair, and he cuts off Sean's breath with every one of his sharp thrusts. He's breathing heavily all too soon, though, and his eyes are narrowed as he looks down at Sean.

"Do you want to wear it?" he growls.

Sean's eyes snap open. He tries to pull back. It could be protest or acquiescence.

Gregory doesn't ask. He pulls back, fisting his cock hard, and growls as he comes, painting Sean's face with white streaks. Sean's eyes close.

 _Fuck , that's good, boy..._ growled out in a low, voice, one tinged with the flat, bland American accent that Sean's never had a taste for.

"Sean?"

And there's New Zealand again, Gregory's voice, Gregory's accent.

Sean's eyes stay closed for a moment, and then he pulls himself to his feet. He can't look at Gregory, and this time Gregory puts his arms out, grabbing Sean by the shoulders.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Sean chokes out. "I'm -- sorry, I have to -- Christ, I have to go, I have to call home."

"Sean, stop. Stop a moment." Gregory pushes Sean into the metal wall of the stall and pins him there. Sean's too weak to fight back, and couldn't if he wanted to. "Look at me," Gregory whispers. "What's the matter?"

Sean looks up, but he can't speak. Gregory draws his thumb across Sean's cheek, clearing one of the streaks from it, and Sean winces. He closes his eyes again and takes the come off Gregory's thumb, letting Gregory clean his face with his fingertips and then licking and sucking at those fingertips until they're clean.

When Sean's face is clean, he opens his eyes again, flicking them toward the stall door. Gregory presses in harder. "Stop now," he murmurs. "Think about it in the morning."

He wraps his arms around Sean's shoulders and pulls Sean into his arms, and Sean goes boneless in his embrace. Sean's eyes are burning, and his arms go tight around Gregory's back.

"I'm sorry," Sean whispers.

"Don't." Gregory hugs him harder. "Think about it tomorrow."

He can't let it go that long. He lets it go while Gregory gets him out of the stall and out of the barracks, and he lets it go when they get home and Gregory pushes Sean into the door and jerks him off, right there, so hard it makes Sean clutch at Gregory's shoulders and bite his lips to keep from asking for more, harder, rougher, _please_. But when Gregory's asleep and Sean's arms are tucked behind his head, his knee cocked up toward the ceiling and the covers down around his waist, he can't let it go anymore.

The time zones here are brutal; Sean doesn't know what time it is back home. Sometime in the afternoon, maybe. Pierce is probably off somewhere, probably won't be home for a few more hours. And by then Sean will be asleep, God willing. In the morning it'll be the middle of the night, and he can't call Pierce then.

It'll keep, he decides. And he doesn't let himself think about how much that sounds like a rationalization, a reason not to call Pierce and tell him how badly his mind's been betraying his master. The needs of the body, he thinks, that doesn't mean much. Pierce would be angry, but it'd be sharp and quick and then it'd be over.

This, though... these are fantasies Sean's not allowed to have. This is territory he's not supposed to be wandering through.

 _"Fuck me."_

"Hurt me."

"Please."

Sean lets out a long breath. He'll call home when he can't bear the shame from this anymore.


	27. Gratitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the days before _Repairs_ , back in the days before _Cruelty_ , Orlando Bloom and Sean Bean knew each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many, many thanks to [Telesilla](http://archiveofourown.org/users/telesilla) for letting me include this in _Sincerity_. *loves Ruth*

There's really only one way out of here. They can't wait for the rain to stop, can't wait for the mudslides to get cleared. Sean knows it, but it's been making his stomach twist up into knots all the same. Orli, Christ, he's probably just going to think of the helicopter ride as another adventure. He _would_.

Really, though, Sean's fond of Orlando. He's friendly and affectionate and outright adorable at times, and the only thing that's bothering Sean is he doesn't want Orlando knowing just how fucking _terrified_ he is of the helicopter trip back. It's not as if his fear of flying is a secret, but this is going to be so much worse he doesn't think he'll be able to stand it.

And the clock's just going faster and faster. The helicopter's going to be here in an hour... half an hour... fifteen minutes, five minutes, _fuck_ , he can hear the blades of the damned thing somewhere off in the distance.

"Orlando?" he asks. "You mind if I have a fag?"

"Sure," Orlando says, shaking one out of his pocket. "You ever notice how Lij still giggles every time any of us Brits tries to bum one off him?"

Orlando knows that Sean is freaked out here; it's pretty obvious. But in spite of the fact that Sean wouldn't fuck him -- and Orlando doesn't know why, because he can tell that under that macho rugby exterior is a very gay man -- Sean's a cool guy. It was nice hanging out with him talking about work and footie and how they both miss real British food. Sean, it turns out, is terrible at poker, and Orlando won several huge fortunes in imaginary money from him.

Sean lights the cigarette; at least his hands aren't shaking too hard for that. "I have noticed, yeah," he grins, hoping the grin isn't too broad. "Either he'll grow out of it or he'll have someone suck it right out of him before too long, I suspect."

"Well, me and Bills are working on it, but I think Dom's gonna get there first," Orlando says laughing. "You're a crude Northern git, Bean," he teases, hoping to distract Sean from the upcoming flight. _Poor sod looks fucking green around the gills._

"And you're a Southern softie," Sean retorts, but there's no heat in it, not really. He takes another drag off the cigarette and lets the smoke out in a long silver line. "You think Dom, huh? Dom's not half as squirmy--" _and persistent_ , Sean thinks-- "as you are. I'd put five pounds on you if we were betting on it."

"Oo'er 'ark at the big spender!" Orlando says, dropping into a Cockney accent for a moment. He laughs and lights up a cigarette of his own. "Yeah, well, Dom's got this thing going, you know. He's kinda intense and weird at times."

"And what does that make you?" Sean asks, grinning. "Or me, for that matter?" This is helping, somewhat; the sound of the helicopter's getting closer, but Sean's able to ignore it a little better, and his hands aren't shaking nearly so much.

"We split those qualities," Orlando says, trying to look wise. "You're intense and I'm weird. So if we want to beat Dom to Lij, it'd have to be both of us." He winks to let Bean know he's joking. "Is the Son of the Steward enough of a pervert to fancy a bit of Hobbit?"

"Ahh, we Men keep to ourselves, mostly," Sean says immediately, hoping to ward off the idea -- _me and Lij and Orli, Christ, imagine what Pierce would do to the three of us_ \-- and then he stops, realizing what he's said, and flushes. "Not like that," he mumbles.

It's too good to pass up and the helicopter is almost there, so Orlando goes for it. "Bet you'd like to stick to Viggo, yeah? Talk about weird and intense."

"I'm not interested in Viggo," Sean says. It's much too sharp; there's no way in hell Orlando's going to believe that. He flicks the cigarette away as the helicopter lands, and steps forward. _Never thought I'd be heading toward one of these fucking things to get away from a conversation,_ he grumps at himself. But it's better than shaking in his boots.

 _Oh sure you're not,_ Orli thinks with glee as he follows Bean to the chopper. _That's why no one -- or is it everyone -- on set has noticed._ It's obvious to anyone who watches that Sean's both fascinated and a little afraid of Viggo but since it's really no one else's business and PJ likes the way Sean's feelings inform his acting, no one says anything. It's like Astin's devotion to Lij; just one of those things people accept.

That knowing little look from Orli is making Sean grimace enough that he can almost ignore the way the helicopter feels when it's taking off. _Cheeky little bastard._

But then the helicopter's angling forward, and Sean nearly bites through his tongue. "Fuck," he breathes, tugging hard at his seatbelt to make sure it's as tight as it'll go.

"Hey," Orlando says, all slightly cruel teasing forgotten. "It's OK, mate; these guys know what they're doing. Astin taught them everything," he adds, hoping to make Sean smile.

For a moment, it works, and Sean does laugh. But the helicopter can't keep still, can't keep steady, and suddenly they're traveling one way when it feels like the damned thing is going entirely in the other direction.

 _Fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck..._ Sean reaches out blindly, not even sure what he's looking for -- Orli's hand, maybe, something to grip. He finds Orlando's knee, and squeezes hard, fingers digging in so hard the knuckles are white.

 _Fuck! Damn wanker has a grip on him!_ But all Orli does is grunt a little, a sound that's lost in the noise of the ride. "'S OK!" he yells at Sean. "It'll be alright." He reaches down and, unable to grasp Sean's hand, grabs his wrist and grips tightly, trying to remind Sean that he's not alone up here.

 _It's all right. It's going to be all right. They're just getting us home and then they're landing. Not taking the long way 'round and not making me stay up here for two fucking hours. Christ._

Sean doesn't even realize how hard his fingers are digging into Orli's knee. All he knows is that the grip makes him feel grounded, just a bit, and thank fucking Christ for Orlando because there's no way he could have done this alone.

Orlando occasionally yells sympathetic nonsense as the flight goes on. They're being blown about like a paper airplane in the heavy wind, but if not for Sean's fear Orli'd be enjoying the flight. As it is, he keeps his hand tight on Sean's wrist and leans against him hard, trying to ground him as much as he can.

Sean eventually leans into Orlando, foregoing any attempt at being brave. He must be leaving bruises -- his grip hasn't lessened at all, and he doesn't think he could let go even if Orlando asked. But at least his presence helps, even if only a little, and though he's certain the bottom's dropped out of his stomach on several occasions, he manages the rest of the flight without shouting or throwing up or otherwise completely humiliating himself.

By the time the helicopter lands, Orli's knee is throbbing and his fingers are almost numb. But Sean, while still a little grey around the edges, is looking much better now that they're on solid land. "Once you're done kissing the ground in gratitude," Orli says, gently, "you wanna come grab a pint or five?"

"Yeah," Sean laughs. He still feels like he's shaking, and he _is_ half tempted to actually kiss the goddamned ground. He can't get away from the helicopter fast enough.

He looks over his shoulder to Orli, then up at the damned infernal machine again, shuddering. "A pint or five, yeah," he yells over the noise. "And I owe you. You want to meet me back at my place? I don't think I could handle a crowd just now."

"Sure, mate," Orli says, flexing his wrist a little. He grins at Bean. "Gimme a couple hours and I'll be by. Want me to go by the shops or a take out place and get some food?"

The idea of eating doesn't seem at all appealing to Sean right now, but he figures by the time he gets back home, takes a shower, and has a little time to rest, he'll be ready to think about food again. He shrugs. "Yeah, anything you want. Sounds good."

* * * * *

Two hours later, Orlando kicks on Sean's door, his hands full of bags with fish and chips and beer. "Lemme in; I'm dying out here with all this stuff!"

Sean's just out of the shower; a phone call home cut his time to himself very short, and he's still scrubbing hard at his hair, towel slung around his hips, when he answers the door. "Well, come in, then," he grins, holding the door open.

Grinning, Orlando comes inside. "Nice towel, mate," he says as he moves into the kitchen. "I bring fish and chips and beer and vinegar and...." He reaches into the bag from the grocery store and produces a package of round buns. "Buns. So, chips plus vinegar plus buns is?"

Sean beams. " _You fill up my senses_ / _Like a bottle of Magnet_..." He shakes his head. "Can't believe you did that. Here--" He helps get everything shoved onto the kitchen counter and then waves at one of the bar stools. "Have a seat while I go get dressed."

"Oi, none of your singing, hear?" Orli yells after Sean as he opens a couple of beers. He quickly loads up a mound of chips on each bun and then douses them with vinegar before putting the top half of the bun on them.

"What's wrong with my singing?" Sean yells back. He tugs a pair of jeans on, skipping the boxers, and finds a clean white t-shirt, which he tugs on over his head on his way back out to the kitchen. He runs quick fingers through his hair -- it's still going to be tousled, but it's looked worse -- and sits down next to Orli. "God, looks good. Haven't had a chip butty in months." He grins. "Thanks."

"I haven't had enough beer," Orlando explains, "to listen to you sing." He shoves Sean's chip butty over, following it with a beer. "Disgusting food, but hey, it's not meat." And with that he takes a huge bite, pretending that the food is the only reason he's smiling.

 _Why's he have to be so fucking shaggable, anyway? Wonder if I can get him drunk enough to want to do me but not so drink that he can't._

Sean recognizes the look in Orli's face and grins. It's been a long time since he was able to try picking someone up outside the context of a scene, picking someone up without domination and submission overtones. He's a little more demonstrative with his beer bottle than he needs to be, tilting his head back, letting Orlando see the arch of his throat. If there's one thing he's learned in his time with Pierce, it's how to put himself on display.

Orlando nearly chokes on his mouthful of food. "Hey," he sputters after he gets it down. "What's with the sudden beer blowjob there, huh?"

Sean almost chokes on his own beer. He's been out of the game longer than he thought. Jesus. He shakes his head. "Think of it as a very tired, very out-of-practice come-on," he says, dropping all pretense at being subtle.

"Dude," Orli says, using an Americanism he's picked up from Lij, "what happened to the whole 'no I can't' thing?"

"So I made a phone call," Sean says. "Two days of being tempted's more than anyone should have to bear, yeah?" He doesn't want to say that he feels like he owes Orli for the helicopter trip; maybe Orli'd take well to that, maybe not, but Sean doesn't want him thinking it's just a gratitude fuck. Orli's fun and he's charming and he's so young and full of energy that nobody could really resist him for long. Not even Sean on his best behavior.

"Brilliant," Orli asks, stuffing his mouth. He chews, swallows and drinks some beer. "So what, you have a deal with your guy? You gotta ask but then it's cool?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Sean agrees. Hell, it's close enough. "And he's halfway across the world, so getting in a phone call just to ask, _hey, can I suck off the elf?_ , you know, seems a little rude. But this time I made an exception." He grins.

"Oh yeah?" Orlando puts the beer bottle down and smiles at Sean, his best lazy sultry slut smile. "Do you just get to suck me off, or did this mysterious bloke of yours say you could fuck the elf too?"

"I think that was implied," Sean drawls. "You want to finish eating first?"

Orli leans back and stretches, knowing that his shirt is riding up a little to expose a small patch of his stomach. "Not really that hungry," he says. "You?"

"Oh, I am," Sean says, but his eyes are on Orlando, and he's not talking about the food. "Come on. Bedroom's this way."

Sean heads off down the hall to his bedroom. Christ, this is going to be odd. It's been a long time since he was in a situation where he was expected to top, and for once he really doesn't mind. He wonders what sorts of odd positions he can get Orlando into; the lad looks like he'd be as flexible as anyone Sean's ever seen in action.

Stripping his shirt off as he follows Sean down the hall, Orlando grins happily. He's been trying to get Sean in bed ever since he met the guy, but after spending time alone with him, he actually likes Sean. _He's a nice bloke,_ Orlando thinks. _Nice and uncomplicated and not looking for anything more than a fun fuck._ Orli intends to deliver on that.

Sean walks into the bedroom and pulls his shirt off over his head. He turns around and flings it at Orlando, then launches himself backwards onto the bed, stretching out with his arms over his head. "C'mere," he murmurs. "Come on and squirm all over me." This last said with an ear-to-ear grin, as Sean starts feeling a flush of desire running up the center of his chest.

"What, half-dressed?" Orlando teases as he shimmies out of his jeans. "Where's the fun in that?"

"The fun's seeing you undo my buttons with your teeth," Sean grins. "Unless you don't think you could manage it. I'd show you how, but you'd have to put yours back _on_ to do that..."

Blinking a little at the unexpected request, Orli grins. "Dunno, never tried it mate." He gets up on the bed and nuzzles Sean's stomach before gripping the right part of Sean's fly and tugging. Fortunately for Orlando, Sean's jeans are well worn and come undone without too much effort. That Sean chose to go commando doesn't surprise Orli at all, and he looks up and winks at Sean.

 _Oh, that's pretty._ Sean grins and puts a hand at the back of Orlando's neck, rubbing lightly. "You're a pro," he teases. "You want to suck me off?"

"I'm not a pro," Orlando replies, his nimble hands already coaxing Sean's erection out of his pants. "Just play one in the movies." He licks his way up the underside of Sean's cock, before sliding his mouth over the head. Sucking just enough to be maddening, he slowly makes his way down.

Sean grunts softly, hips thrusting up almost before he's aware of what he's doing. He closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. "Nice," he murmurs. Orlando's such a nice boy -- _unlike yourself?_ , Sean thinks, grinning. "Harder," he whispers. "Please?"

Orlando quickly obliges, sucking harder as he moves his head back up. He gives a teasing lick when he moves back down again and then settles into a steady rhythm, sucking hard. _Not gonna let you come in my mouth though, Bean; want you to fuck me...._

"Oh," Sean breathes, "yeah, that's... nn, that's good..." _Could be better, though,_ he realizes, and he leans up to run a hand through Orli's hair. "Could you -- mm, Christ, Orli -- could you use your teeth?"

 _Kinky,_ Orli thinking, but he's met people who like teeth and so he doesn't hesitate to scrape Sean's shaft carefully with his teeth in the next pass. This is good actually; he doesn't mind a bit of direction. _After all, not all blokes are alike and it's nice to be told what a guy likes. Makes everyone happy._

Sean falls back into the pillows, gasping and clutching at Orli's shoulders. _There_ , that's what he wants, and if it's not as hard as he'd like, not quite as nasty or as vicious, it's sure as hell close enough. "Ah, yeah," he whispers, "fuck yeah, Orli, that's good." He's starting to blush from talking this way, but he wants to make sure Orlando doesn't stop just when it's getting good.

"Mmmmm," Orli hums around Sean's cock. He's preening a bit inside at the way Bean's talking and scrapes his teeth just a little harder.

Sean wasn't expecting that, and it makes him jerk his hips up, his cock sliding harder into Orli's mouth. " _Fuck..._ "

Laughing a little, Orlando raises his head. "That had better be an offer," he says, bending to lick Sean's cock once. "I'd really like to have this up inside me."

Blushing a little harder, Sean nods. "Yeah, OK," he murmurs.

Grinning at the look on Sean's face, Orlando pulls at Sean's jeans until he's got them off the other man. "Where's your stuff?"

"Over here," Sean says, sitting up and reaching over to the nightstand. He pulls out lube and tosses it over to Orli; gets out a condom and rips the packet open, rolling it on fast. _Wonder if he ever tops,_ he thinks, a bit wistfully.

"Ta," Orlando says, quickly slicking up his fingers. He makes a bit of a show of prepping himself, straddling Sean's lap and wriggling a lot before he finally moves into position and sinks down over Sean's cock. "Oh fuck that's good," he moans.

Sean moans and arches up, putting his hands on Orli's hips to pull him down a little deeper. "Fuck, yeah," he whispers. "Good--" He cuts himself off before he can add _lad_ to the end of it.

"Oh yeah," Orli moans. He raises his hands above his head and uses his legs only to raise and lower himself on Sean. He's showing off, but he doesn't think Sean will mind too much. "Fucking lovely ... mate."

Sean draws his hands up Orli's sides and then back down, scratching just a little. "Fucking pretty," he breathes. "Jesus, Orli..."

"Tickles," Orli says, squirming even more. He brings his hands up and plays with his nipples, since it's obvious that Bean likes what he sees.

If he blushes any more, Sean's going to catch fire to the bed. He grins up at Orlando and slides his hands down to Orli's thighs, grunting softly as he arches his hips up. "Damned pretty lad," he whispers.

The word "lad" amuses Orlando to no end and he laughs even as his breath goes shaky. "Take the ... lad out of the North," he stammers even as he leans down and rests his hands on the bed. "But you can't ... fuck yeah ... take the North out ... of the lad."

"Oh fuck," Sean laughs, "fuck, Orli, yeah... come on..." He wraps a hand around Orlando's cock and starts stroking him in long, smooth motions, squeezing tight, not quite as hard as he'd stroke himself, but close.

"Wanna see you ..." Orli moans. It's important to Orlando, being able to look at a guy and think 'I did that.' "C'mon Sean ... wanna see you ... come."

That's all it takes; Sean thrusts up hard, clutching Orli's hips, and he comes, head falling back against the pillows and teeth closing together hard. " _Fuck_ yeah... oh, Christ... Orli..."

 _I did that,_ Orlando thinks smugly, just before he comes. His back arches up, and as he gasps through his orgasm, he looks like a cat poised over Sean's recumbent form, his hands still on the bed on either side of Bean's chest.

"Oh," Sean breathes, reaching up to cup Orli's cheeks in his hands, "oh, that was fucking gorgeous, lad." He arches up, trying to get his lips to Orlando's. "Fucking gorgeous."

"Aye, it were at that," Orli replies in a thick Yorkshire accent. He collapses against Sean's chest, kissing Sean deeply.

Sean can't help chuckling against Orli's lips. _If he'd said that in an Irish accent, though, how funny would it have been?_

The thought sobers him a little, and he pulls away from the embrace, looking up at Orli and running his fingers down Orli's cheek. "I like you," he murmurs, and then he looks a bit surprised with himself for saying it. It's true enough; he just didn't expect it to come out that way.

 _Oh shit! He's not gonna get all attached, is he?_ "I like you too," Orli replies aloud. It's true, he does like Sean, but that's as far as it goes. "Your bloke's a lucky guy."

Sean winces hard at that, and his eyes drop away from Orli. "No," he murmurs. "No, he isn't." _My bloke has a disobedient slave who's been fucking a stuntman, who called home to ask if he could fuck the elf, who'd kneel for someone else and beg him until his voice was hoarse if he knew he'd never be found out. He's not lucky._

"Yeah he is," Orlando says, moving off Sean only to snuggle up next to him. "A lot of guys in relationships would just screw around without letting their partner know. I slept with this girl who said we couldn't let her guy know and it pissed me off. I thought they were all open and it turns out she was cheating on him. Fucking rude, you know?"

Sean grunts. "Yeah," he says gruffly. "Fucking rude."

Narrowing his eyes, Orli props himself up on one elbow. "You _did_ talk to him, didn't you? What in hell's his name, anyway? Can't keep calling him your bloke."

"Yes, I bloody well talked to him. About you, anyway," Sean sighs. "His name's Pierce."

Once more Lij's American slang makes its way into Orlando's conversation. "Dude! 007? Damn, you're _both_ lucky!"

Sean gives Orli a wry grin. "If you say so," he shrugs.

"Oh," Orli says. _Obviously problems there, so let's back off, OK, Bloom?_ He gets up and heads to the bathroom and then, after pissing, returns with a damp washcloth. "Fetch you a beer, Sir?" he says in his best airline hostess voice.

Sean's disposed of his condom by then, and he takes the damp washcloth gratefully. It's damned odd not having had to get it himself, and the offer for a beer is nice, but enough is enough. Sean's still enough of a slave that the idea of someone else waiting for him makes him itch. "No, let me go out and get it," he offers. He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. "You want anything else while I'm out there?"

"I'll take a beer," Orlando says, flopping back on the bed. _Moody bugger, our Bean._

Sean pads out to the kitchen and grabs two beers, prying the caps off the bottles before he goes back to the bedroom. He rests one against Orlando's knee, looking to get his attention, and only then notices the bruises on Orlando's knee. They look brand-new, and Sean winces as he realizes where they came from.

"Ah, fuck, Orli, I'm sorry," he murmurs.

"No problem, mate." Orli shrugs. "You were that freaked, weren't you?"

"I hate flying," Sean says. "Hate helicopters a fucking hell of a lot more than I hate flying. Be buggered if I'll go up in one of those goddamned things again." And then the ridiculousness of a gay man making that sort of promise hits him square-on, and he laughs. "Well, hopefully I'll be buggered if I _won't_ ," he grins.

Laughing, Orli leans over and looks Sean in the eye. "Do I get to bugger you, regardless of helicopters?" He's a little hesitant to ask. Not only do some guys like to make something like this a one-time thing, but macho guys like Bean don't always like to bottom.

"Mm. I'd like that." Sean climbs back into bed and settles down, putting his bottle on the nightstand. "He might not let me do this again, though," he says softly. "He can be a little... controlling." _Which is why I'm with him, of course..._

There's something odd about the way that Sean says "let me" that has Orli a little puzzled. _None of my business, really._

"I'd still like to hang out with you, though," he says. And it's true; Sean's a nice easygoing guy, much more relaxed than the hobbits.

"That'd be good, yeah," Sean grins. "Even if you're supporting the wrong fucking footie team. Southern softie."

"Hey, at least I fucking support a team, you Northern blockhead," Orli replies. "Does Viggo even watch TV, let alone footie?"

Sean goes still. "Why would it matter?" he asks quietly.

"I'm an air headed slut but I'm not blind, Bean," Orli replies, his grin taking any sting out of his words.

"Yeah, well..." Sean sighs. Fuck, but he doesn't like the fact that it's this obvious; he's going to have to hope like hell it's a case where the object of desire is the only one who doesn't know about it. "It's never going to happen, so..." He shrugs. "Feel like a fucking idiot about it, if you want to know the truth."

"Why not?" Orli asks. "I happened and you don't fancy me as much as you fancy Viggo. And why feel like an idiot? He's a good looking bloke. I'd shag him."

Sean can't help grinning at that. "Pierce gets jealous about specific peculiar things. Viggo's about my age, and he's a hell of a lot more serious than you are. There's no way he'd let me make Viggo an offer, and that's assuming Viggo would have a shred of interest in someone like me. Which he likely wouldn't."

"I think he fancies you," Orli teases. He's caught Viggo looking at Sean with a look of speculation -- but with Viggo that could just mean he was mentally composing a poem, or setting up a photograph or, hell, trying to remember where he left his car. But it's fun to tweak Sean just a little.

"Orli... leave off it," Sean says quietly. "Please."

"Sure," Orlando says easily. As much fun as it is to tweak Bean, it's obvious that this is more complicated than he thought, and so he leans down and kisses Sean. "Sorry," he says against Sean's lips before kissing him harder.

Sean kisses back eagerly, drawing both arms around Orlando and holding him close. "Mm. Stay the night?" Sean asks. He's so seldom had a warm body to curl up close with at night, particularly in the last four years; he wants this.

Orlando relaxes into Sean's arms easily. "Sure I'll stay." He suddenly grins a little impishly. "Say -- if we shag in the morning, is it still the same go?"

"I think it is," Sean grins. "You want to fuck me next time?"

"Mmmm ... it's only fair," Orli replies.

"Then that's settled," Sean nods, smiling. He tucks Orli into his shoulder and hums with light satisfaction. The helicopter trip might've been worth it after all.


	28. Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean's still in New Zealand, and Pierce makes a phone call. Questions are asked, and an assignment is given.

"Hello, lad. How's New Zealand been these last few weeks?"

The sound of Pierce's voice takes Sean by surprise. "Master. It's good to hear from you." He pauses. "New Zealand's fine, Master."

"Only fine?" Pierce asks.

"The film's beautiful. I can't say enough for the crew. It's an easy cast to get along with, Master."

"I'm sure it is. Whose bed have you been warming?"

Sean's eyes close. "Master, please..."

"I presume you _have_ been misbehaving. You excel at that."

He could deny it, he supposes, but there's little point. "A member of the stunt team, Master."

"Stunt team," Pierce snorts. "No one else will take you? What happened to the young man you asked permission to _thank_?"

"I haven't done anything with him since," Sean murmurs.

"Well, that's uncharacteristically well-behaved of you," Pierce replies. "So it's only this stuntman, then?"

"Only him, Master, yes."

"Might I meet him when I come out?"

"Master, please, I--" Sean stops, flattened by the implication. "Come out, Master?"

"Mm. I'm going to be visiting you. A week from Tuesday. How else will I be certain you don't get yourself into more trouble than you can manage?"

The sting from Pierce's words is nothing compared to the twisting feeling in the pit of Sean's stomach. Pierce _visiting_. He doesn't know whether it's a good feeling or a bad feeling; doesn't know whether he's desperate to see Pierce here or if he'd rather guard this place from Pierce's cruelty. Confused, off-balance -- this is how Pierce likes Sean best, of course, and Sean takes a deep breath.

"A week from Tuesday, Master, yes, of course. I'll be at the airport, then." Sean frantically goes through his memory of the schedule; is he on call that Tuesday? No. No, thank Christ, he's not.

"I'll fax you my flight information. Now. What is it you're _not_ telling me, lad?"

"Master?" Sean murmurs. His stomach rolls over. _Please, Master, don't ask me about this. Don't ask me about him._ It's ridiculous; how would Pierce know? Sean's never mentioned Viggo. He's never mentioned the dreams that keep him up nights. Sean is not a complete fool; he knows what Pierce would do if he knew Sean wanted to be on his knees for someone else.

 _It's not like that,_ his thoughts interrupt themselves.

 _Isn't it?_

 _Christ, he's insane. You don't even like him._

 _Is that the truth, Sean? Or is it what you tell yourself so you don't go to your knees in front of him and beg him to take you?_

Sean doesn't have an answer for that.

"I'll find out when I get there, lad," Pierce warns. "Don't think I won't."

"Yes, Master," Sean murmurs. _The hell you will._

"A week from Tuesday. Not long, lad." Pierce sighs. "This stuntman of yours..."

Sean winces. "Yes, Master?"

"The next time you see him I want you to fuck him. Until he's out of breath and gasping from it. I want you to hurt him."

Oh, Christ. That's not how things are with Gregory, and Sean doesn't know if he can change the rules this late in the game.

But it's an order. The first one he's gotten since he came here. How can he say no to that?

"If our paths cross--" Sean begins.

"If they don't -- cross them," Pierce orders.

Sean closes his eyes. "As you please, Master."

* * * * *

Gregory shows up to Sean's house that night with a six-pack under his arm. Sean takes it and heads to the kitchen. Normally when Gregory shows up, there's a little banter, some crude flirting, the way it often is with blokes. This time Sean's expression is subdued, more serious than Gregory's used to seeing from him.

 _Why are you so goddamned nice to me?_ Sean wonders. _It's not supposed to work that way._ Even before Pierce, when he had lovers, they were never this easygoing. If he was quiet, that usually kicked off a fight of some kind. If he was in a bad mood, it sparked one off in kind. Now he's obviously got something on his mind, and Gregory's not asking. He never asks.

Sean wonders if it's because he just doesn't give a damn. It might be easier, thinking that. Only it hurts, just a little, thinking maybe Gregory doesn't give a damn about him. _You don't make any sense, Bean. You don't want him to care about you, because that would complicate matters, but you want him to give a damn, because otherwise all this is meaningless? Is that the size of it?_

"Come on," Sean says, heading off to the bedroom. No foreplay this time; no joking, no sitting out on the couch and watching whatever match is on. He's got orders to follow.

Gregory has most of his clothes stripped off by the time they get into Sean's bedroom. "What's on our menu tonight?" he jokes, but it falls flat for both of them. Sean tries to grin but only manages to get one corner of his mouth quirked up.

"Me on top for once," Sean says. He'd like to add _if you'll have me_ ; he'd like to ask permission. But that's not how this is supposed to work. Pierce gave him an order. This is how it has to be, and permission doesn't enter into it.

"Fine," Gregory shrugs. He gets on hands and knees in the center of Sean's bed and looks over his shoulder. For a moment it looks like he's going to ask what's wrong, but then he closes his mouth and turns his head back so he's facing the wall again. Sean gets out the usual condom and lube, applies one to himself, the other to Gregory. _This feels so damn awkward._ He rubs at Gregory's lower back in small circles, wishing he were better at topping. He's never much cared for it, even in all those years when people assumed without asking that he was a top.

"Sean..." Gregory sighs.

 _Christ, he's disappointed already._ Sean closes his eyes. "I'm sorry--"

"No, fuck, don't be sorry. Just _go_. I can take it."

Sean nods, lines up, pushes in. One inch at a time, rocking back and forth until he's fully seated and sighing with it. Gregory squeezes him hard, and Sean gasps, and then Gregory gives one delicious slide forward and an arching, moaning press backward, fucking himself on Sean's cock, and Sean has to put his hands on Gregory's hips to steady himself.

"Is that what you wanted?" Gregory asks. He repeats the motion, undulating with it. He's fucking graceful, so much more than Sean ever expected, and _God_ this is good, and it isn't supposed to be.

"Why?" Sean whispers. He clutches tight to Gregory's hips and rocks back, rocks forward, seating himself deeper, plunging hard enough to make Gregory groan.

"Why _what_ , Sean?"

Sean gives a few more deep, rocking thrusts, and notices when Gregory's shoulders go tense and he can't hold himself quite so gracefully anymore. "Why are you so kind to me?" Sean breathes.

"I'm _not_ ," Gregory spits back. "Fuck me. Come on. It's what we're doing here. Hurt me, Sean."

Sean's eyes close. _It's what we're doing here._ He pulls Gregory back against him hard and starts moving in those deep, lunging motions he loves so much when he's bottoming. He blinks his eyes open to watch Gregory's reactions; Gregory's hands make fists in the bedcovers, and he chokes off pained breaths one after another after another as Sean fucks him.

 _Why are you so kind to me?_

 _I'm not._

It doesn't make any sense, and wanting this as much as he does makes no sense, either. But Sean's feeling too good to stop, and before he knows what's happening to him, he ends up growling low in his throat, shoving forward hard and reaching up to clutch a handful of Gregory's hair in one tight fist.

"Tell me you're not being kind to me right now," Sean growls.

"I'm _not_ ," Gregory repeats, though by now his voice is ragged, and he's gasping. "I'm fucking _using_ you, Sean."

Sean shakes Gregory's head hard. "Liar," he snarls. "This means something to you, doesn't it?"

"It means I'm getting what I want," Gregory whispers. "Hurt me. Come on. Harder."

Sean lets out several stuttered, broken cries, gripping Gregory's hair and surging forward in pounding, irregular movements. Every one of them rips a yell out of Gregory's throat, and Sean simply doesn't give a shit. He pounds in hard until he comes, groaning quietly, and he pulls out a little too fast and simply collapses on the bed to Gregory's side.

"You done?" Gregory asks softly.

Sean throws an arm over his face. "I'm done," he whispers.

When Gregory's weight comes down on Sean's chest, Sean lets out a soft explosion of air and immediately wishes he hadn't; with Gregory sitting on him, it's harder to take in a full breath. It gets harder when Gregory slams a hand down on Sean's throat, cutting off his air altogether for a moment before letting up.

"Stop," Sean gasps out. His whole body's shivering; he can't get hard again this fast, but the arousal's washing over him harder than he can remember it happening in his life.

"This is how you really want it, isn't it?" Gregory asks. He's got that one threatening hand over Sean's throat, and his other hand is stroking his cock hard. "You want it this rough. You want it like this."

"No," Sean whispers. "No, please--"

"You're a fucking liar," Gregory scoffs. "You'd love it if I let you suck me off right now. If I just fucked your throat, right here, like this." His hand tightens again, and Sean chokes, trying for air and failing at it. It's painfully arousing and terrifying all at once, and his eyes sting with welling tears.

Another few strokes, and Sean feels the warm splash of come across his cheek. He closes his eyes. Gregory lets him have another breath, and then cuts it off sharply again, levering the full weight of his body down on that arm as he climbs down Sean's body and stretches out on top of him. When he's stretched out and face-to-face with Sean, he takes his hand away from Sean's throat and begins cleaning Sean's face with slow, lazy licks, humming softly to himself with unguarded pleasure.

Sean chokes on a quiet sob, and then he's shaking under Gregory, clutching at him and letting tears fall. Gregory pushes Sean's arms aside, pinning them to the bed as he finishes with Sean's face. Sean tries to pull away, but there's nowhere to go.

"Now," Gregory whispers. "Tell me what that was about."

"I had to," Sean says quietly. He can't even look at Gregory; his face is turned away as much as he can get it, and his eyes are closed.

"Who is he?" Gregory asks. "How long have you been with him?"

"Four years," Sean whispers. "Forever."

"You ever thought about leaving?"

Sean shakes his head. "I can't."

Gregory pauses, and then rolls to the side. "Look..." His voice trails off, and he curls up around Sean's side. "I'm not going to be the first one who tells you you could do better, am I?"

"I can't," Sean repeats. "Just -- stop. Please."

"Would it..." Gregory sighs. "Would it be easier if I stopped coming here?"

"It might," Sean whispers.

"Would it be easier if I just left now?"

"Yeah."

Gregory waits a few minutes, then levers himself up on an elbow. He turns Sean's face toward him, ignoring the way Sean tries to fight and the tears that have been running down his cheeks. He's never asked questions, not really; they've never talked much. He doesn't say anything now, and he still doesn't ask. He leans forward and kisses Sean, so gently it nearly makes Sean clutch at him. Sean digs his fingers into the bedcovers, trying not to moan.

"All right," Gregory whispers. He pushes out of bed and gets dressed. Sean rolls over onto his side so he doesn't have to watch. Gregory doesn't say anything as he lets himself out of Sean's house; Sean hears the quiet click of the door shutting behind him.


	29. Payment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierce arrives in New Zealand.

It isn't often Sean ends up driving to the airport with the comfort of knowing he doesn't have to get on a fucking plane. This ought to be an easier trip than most.

It's not, of course. Sean's fingers are tapping idly against the rim of the steering wheel, and as he gets closer to the airport, he feels his stomach clenching into knots.

 _You deserve this_ , he thinks. _Pierce is right. You've been misbehaving. The elf was one thing; you asked, he said yes. But whatever in hell it was you were doing with Gregory -- you deserve to have lost that. Deserve to have New Zealand fucking polluted with Pierce and his cold eyes._

Sean checks the screens and finds out which gate Pierce's flight is landing at. He heads for the arrivals gate and stays on his feet while the plane taxis in and parks, and the passengers start filing in.

Pierce is one of the first off the airplane, and he's got a large duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He hands it off to Sean, and says, "That's all I've got. I'm only going to be here four days. Take me back to your house."

 _Four days. I can survive four days of anything._ Sean nods and leads Pierce out of the airport.

Once they're in the car, Pierce puts his hand on the back of Sean's neck. "How did things go with your stuntman?" Pierce asks.

"Not well," Sean murmurs. "I won't be seeing him anymore."

Pierce goes silent for several seconds. "You can't get anything right, can you?" he asks at last.

"Clearly not, Master."

"Mm." Pierce gives Sean's neck a small caress before taking his hand away. "I'm exhausted. It's a thirty-hour flight from London."

 _As if I don't know that._

"I'd like to get some sleep. And then I want you to take me out to wherever it is your cast conglomerates at -- whatever time it'll be when I'm up. What time is it now?"

"Three in the afternoon, Master," Sean says; he hasn't checked a clock since he got to the airport, but he doesn't need to.

"Fine. So it'll probably be fairly late."

"Yes, Master. Will you want me to introduce you to anyone?"

"No. I want to watch you watching them."

Sean's stomach clenches again. _Fuck._ Pierce isn't always observant, but when he's deliberately searching out something to hold over Sean's head, he can be frighteningly astute. Sean nods. "Of course, Master," he murmurs.

Back to Sean's house, then, and Sean tucks Pierce into bed, then heads out to the back porch to smoke. He's picked it up again; after the helicopter trip and the fun, uncomplicated shag he had with Orlando, it brought a smile to his face. Pierce will hate it. Sean's doing it on purpose, of course; if he gets himself into trouble for smoking, maybe Pierce will decide to stay in and punish him for that instead of going out and finding out who Sean's been watching all this time.

No such luck. When Pierce wakes up, he comes out to the back porch looking for Sean. The cigarettes don't even earn him a disapproving look. Maybe it's too obvious what they're for. Pierce simply waits at Sean's side until Sean takes to his feet and asks, "Would you like to go now, Master?"

"Now, lad," Pierce nods.

Sean takes Pierce to the pub everyone loves so much. It's an unusually full crowd tonight; nearly everyone's there, although Sean's glad to see Gregory isn't around. It's been fairly easy to avoid each other; Sean's kept away from the stunt barracks as much as he could, and when they do end up in the same room during a practice, they keep their eyes carefully away from each other.

Sean leaves his eyes on Orlando. He's dancing and bouncing and being his usual exuberant self; it doesn't seem too out of the ordinary to be captivated by the elf. And it keeps his eyes off Viggo, who's sitting at a table by himself tonight, smoking and sipping at something that looks like brandy.

 _I'd beg him to let me lick it off his skin,_ Sean thinks, and his eyes snap hard back to Orlando. _Christ, don't fucking think about that._

Pierce slides his hand to the back of Sean's neck and leans close to his ear. "No," he whispers. "Who is he?"

Sean's eyes drop to the table. "I don't know what you mean," he mumbles.

"Ice blue eyes. Cheekbones that could cut you if you got too close. Ragged beard. Is that a sword next to him?"

"Yes," Sean whispers. _Fuck._

"What's his name?"

"Viggo, Master."

"Do you speak to him much?"

"I've never spoken more than a few words to him at a time, Master."

"Have you fucked him?"

"No," Sean whispers. Pierce's hand on the back of his neck is making his skin crawl. "I barely know him, Master."

"He's the only one in this room for you. Did you think I wasn't going to notice that?"

Sean has nothing left, no dignity, no secrets. He's got nothing but honesty, and even that's been drawn up short tonight. "I had hoped not, Master," he whispers.

"What do you dream about, lad?"

Sean goes entirely silent, staring at the table in front of him. Pierce's fingers tighten on the back of his neck.

"Where do your fantasies put you?"

Still nothing from Sean. And that's answer enough for Pierce. He draws his hand away from Sean's neck, resting it on his shoulder.

"We're going home," he says.

Sean nods and leaves a few notes on the table for their drinks. He gets up and follows Pierce out of the bar.

They don't speak on the way home. Sean doesn't think he could get words out even if Pierce ordered them. His throat's too tight; he's shaking too hard. He's amazed he can keep the car on the road. If there were traffic, he'd be in trouble; as it is, he gets them home in one piece and is surprised he was able to do that much.

"I want you out of your clothes and up against your bedroom door. Hands crossed at the wrists and above your head. Feet out from the wall." Pierce gets out of the car and walks up to the front door; Sean opens it and follows Pierce down the hall to the bedroom. The bed's still rumpled from Pierce's nap earlier; Sean wishes he'd had a chance to tug the covers into place again. He strips out of his clothes while Pierce unzips his duffel and begins rummaging through it.

Sean undresses quickly and puts himself in the position Pierce described earlier. His hands are crossed at the wrists, and with his feet back from the wall they bear most of his weight. His shoulders are going to ache by the time Pierce is through with him.

There's a familiar jingle as Pierce comes up behind him. It's familiar only because on this set he's been seeing so many different kinds of chain mail; the sound is definitely that of tiny metal rings shifting against each other. Sean almost cranes his head over his shoulder to look. _What in hell...?_

"Tell me about Viggo," Pierce whispers.

"There's nothing," Sean says. "Master..."

 _Impact._ It hits Sean so hard he lands face-first against the door, gasping in pain. The brunt of the blow fell on his right shoulder, but it carried across both shoulderblades and nearly knocked the wind from him. Chain mail for certain, and Sean's never been hit so hard by anything. He stays flat against the wall, trying hard to suck air in.

" _Tell me_ ," Pierce repeats.

"There's nothing to tell," Sean forces out. "Master, please..."

 _Impact_. Sean's muscles tense all over. This time the blow hits the other side of his body first, and he grunts hard, not wanting to cry out. He can feel his skin stinging, and he wonders if Pierce has already drawn blood.

"How long have you been looking at him that way?" Pierce asks.

"I'm not looking at him--"

 _Impact._ It's lower this time, under his shoulderblades, across his ribcage. It stings all over, feels as if he's being cut in a thousand tiny places all at once. It knocks the breath from him, and he struggles to suck in air. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck..._

"How long?" Pierce whispers.

 _Impact._ The other side of his ribcage. Sean can't breathe.

"How long?"

"Since I... first laid eyes on him... Master," Sean whispers.

Another blow. And another. Three. Four. Covering the same ground as the last four, and Sean can smell the copper tang of blood in the air. Christ. It hurts so much Sean's going lightheaded from being unable to get enough breath. He's been hurt before, but never like this. Never this quickly.

"Master, please," Sean forces out. "Stop. Please."

Pierce isn't listening. Another four blows, each one rocking Sean into the door, until he finally stays there, letting the door support him.

"You want him," Pierce says. Not a question. "You look at him as if you want to kneel for him."

"I'm sorry," Sean whispers. "Please forgive me, Master."

 _Impact._ "Where's your--" _Impact._ "--endless devotion--" _Impact._ "--now, lad?" _Impact._ Sean can hear Pierce's breathing coming fast. He can hear the breath rushing in and out of his own lungs. His arms ache from being held rigid; he concentrates on keeping his breath steady.

"Nothing more to say?" Pierce asks. "Done begging for forgiveness?" He gives Sean another hard stroke, this one almost careless; Sean can feel the diagonal stripe of it burning across the center of his back.

"Master, please forgive me," Sean breathes. It's as loud as he can get it.

"You're _mine_ ," Pierce hisses. He grabs Sean's hair at the nape of his neck and drags him backwards. "I don't give a damn if you think you could do better elsewhere."

"I don't think -- Master, please," Sean chokes out.

"You have been failing me every day since I met you," Pierce breathes. His hand slides out of Sean's hair, and he drags his fingers over Sean's back. It burns, stings, makes Sean jerk away hard. The only place he can go is the door, and he flattens himself against it. Pierce's fingers follow him. There's nowhere to turn.

Pierce pulls away all at once, and another flashing flurry of blows and rattle of chain mail follows. Sean can't think, and if he could take himself out of the room, if he could retreat somewhere deep in his mind and be _away_ from what he's being given now, he'd go. He's never felt this way before with Pierce.

It's not that he expects it to be fair; he knows better. But this aches in so many different ways he can't find words for it. The chain mail could have been a reward; the pain could have been beautiful. Pierce could have offered it to him simply because he knows Sean loves pain. Even as a punishment, Sean could have accepted it; he's earned pain through misbehavior before.

This is different. This is Pierce tearing into him because Pierce is jealous and angry. Sean's done nothing but _want_ , and he can't help the wanting.

 _You can help it,_ Sean thinks, clinging to the idea. _You have no choice. This isn't going to end until he's broken those feelings out of you._

Sean straightens his posture, and he exhales, one long rush of air through his teeth. "Please," he whispers.

"Please what?" Pierce asks. He comes closer, and runs his fingers up through Sean's hair, jerking his head back again. "What do you want, lad?"

"I have..." Sean closes his eyes. "I have wanted to kneel for someone else, Master. Wanted enough that I've come very close to begging him for it. I have been..." He lets out another shaking breath, and draws one in before continuing. His voice is barely above a whisper; in the quiet of the room, it still sounds loud to his ears. "I have been disloyal, Master, not through the actions of my body but through the desires I've had since I've come here. Your lad begs you to punish him for his unfaithfulness, Master. Begs you to break him until he knows his place again."

"Do you think it's going to be easy?" Pierce murmurs. His hand trails down Sean's back again, and Sean shivers but manages not to pull away.

"No, Master, I don't think it's going to be easy."

"Do you think I don't know how much you can take?"

Sean hesitates. Pierce wraps an arm around Sean's waist and jerks him backward, pulling Sean's back against his chest. The cotton of Pierce's shirt feels rougher than sandpaper against the raw cuts on Sean's back, and he growls low in his throat.

"Do you think I don't know how much you can take?" Pierce repeats.

There's a certain clarity in Sean's answer, as if he's known this all along and has been hiding from the knowledge. "I believe you know exactly how much I can take," Sean whispers, "but that you've never cared to push me that far, Master."

Pierce shoves him back against the door. "Bastard," he hisses. "You want more than I've given you. Is that what this is really about?"

"I think it must be, Master," Sean whispers.

Sean hears Pierce pace away, and the resulting jangle of chain mail. Sean's posture doesn't change; he forces his breathing to stay steady.

"All right," Pierce says quietly. "Ask me for it."

"I..." Sean whispers. _Haven't I been asking you for this since we started on this path, Pierce?_ "I'm asking you to put me in my place, Master," he murmurs. "Please."

The pain is sharper than anything Sean has ever felt before, and he grunts at every impact of chain mail on flesh. He knows he's bleeding; he can feel lines of it trailing down his back, over his arse, can hear drops of blood and sweat hitting the floor.

It's almost enough. He knows he won't be able to move much for the next few days. He might scar. It's almost as much as he wants, but it isn't quite _there_. He can't see Pierce's eyes, and wonders if Pierce would give them to him even were they in a position where it was possible.

 _What are you thinking, Master?_ Sean wonders. It's been a long time since he had to ask the question, a long time since it's seemed as if Pierce was holding something back from him.

He's not holding back when it comes to his arm or the pain he's granting Sean. Years of holding back, and that's come to an end; by the time they're through here, he'll have pushed Sean hard enough to prove he does know Sean's limits, and can take him past them. But there's still something missing, and if Sean could pin Pierce down again and demand it, he would.

 _It's not supposed to work that way._ Sean's fingers tighten into fists, and he steadies himself against the door. _He gives you what you need, and you owe him your gratitude and your loyalty. He doesn't have to explain himself to you._

The chain mail goes rattling to the floor, and Sean takes a slow breath, unable to tell whether it's over or whether Pierce is simply giving him a few moments to breathe. "Master," he whispers, "your slave offers you his body, please, until you're ready to show him mercy."

"We're done," Pierce murmurs. "When the endorphins and the adrenaline wear off, you're not going to be able to move. Let's get you cleaned up."

Sean leans heavily against Pierce, and they head into the bathroom. Pierce strips out of his clothes -- the sleeves and the front of his shirt are bloodstained, Sean notes with almost clinical detachment -- and helps Sean into the shower.

The sting of the soap against his cuts makes Sean bite down hard, desperate not to scream. Pierce's hands are steady, certain, and Sean braces himself against the shower wall to the best of his ability.

Out of the shower, Sean lets Pierce dry him off and lead him back to bed. Pierce puts him in bed, face-down, and goes to his duffel to get out antibiotic gel. "I knew you were going to need cleanup," he explains, "but I didn't expect to go this far with you."

 _Please don't apologize,_ Sean thinks desperately. _I can bear the pain. I can bear the marks. Please._

The gel is cool, and after a stinging moment of misery it helps his back go numb. "You'll probably need ice on this later," Pierce murmurs. "I'm here for four days. If you let me care for you, you should be nearly recovered by then."

"Is this something you've given your lads before?" Sean whispers.

"Some of them," Pierce answers. "Some of my lasses."

"Why not me?" Sean asks. He nearly bites the words off as soon as they come out; if there was ever a moment for honesty between them, though, this is it.

"You would have loved it," Pierce says quietly.

Sean is glad his eyes are closed. "I don't understand."

"That's not what we're here for."

"Then what are--" Sean's half-up on an elbow before he realizes how foolish it would be to move now, and he sinks back into the bed, eyes stinging from the pain of having let himself move. "Then why?" he whispers, blinking hard.

"Because as miserable as you are with me," Pierce murmurs, "being on your own again would be worse."

He's right. And the knowledge that he's right takes away Sean's ability to speak.

Pierce finishes with the gel, and leaves Sean to his thoughts. Sean closes his eyes and does his best not to think.


	30. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean has some observations about his new costar.

_Don't let him know what you're thinking. Don't let him know what you're feeling. Do your job._

It's more than just his character's mantra; it's Sean's own. He's on a new set, for a job that's only supposed to last a few weeks; he's got an intriguing persona to slip into, a carefully neutral expression...

...a costar who watches him with narrowed eyes, and who never says a fucking word.

It's not a matter of wanting to kneel this time. Sean doesn't know _what_ he wants. A hard fuck against a brick wall in a dark alley, maybe, while those lips are set into a firm line and the only sounds are Sean's whispered pleas. Those hands, those gloves, pinning Sean's arms down and letting Sean struggle until he's exhausted and has no choice but to give in.

Bale scares him. And Sean enjoys being scared.

He could call Pierce again. Bale's not the type that would send Pierce into fits of jealousy. He's fifteen years younger than Sean, taller, faster, stronger. Pierce might let Sean go for an evening. Might even let Sean occupy himself with Bale for the duration of the filming, if Bale's interested.

Christ. Those _eyes._ After four years of holding eye contact with his master, Sean should be able to hold Bale's gaze longer. He can't. Bale makes him feel skittish. Makes his skin crawl.

Sean's been spending his time alone this shoot. No getting into trouble with stuntmen; no possibility of giving anyone too much attention. He hasn't called Pierce since he got here, but they haven't spoken much in the last few weeks. Things are quiet.

After a long day of filming -- today's scenes mainly consisted of standing two paces behind Bale and looking serious -- Sean slides into his bed, tucking his arms behind his head and looking up at the ceiling.

This is not what he signed a contract with Pierce in order to get. He knows that now. And there's no way out of it; no matter what he does, Pierce isn't going to let him go. Misbehavior hasn't worked. Living up to Pierce's orders hasn't worked. Four years, and he hasn't gotten what he needs and doesn't know how to get away.

He could walk. He could tear up his contract, burn his collar, and move on. Pierce has warned him before that walking out will mean never getting anything close to what he wants again. Maybe he's right. Four years ago the half-threat half-promise was enough to keep him in place; now...

 _Another six months,_ Sean thinks. He closes his eyes and exhales. _If things aren't different in six months, then I'll go._

-FIN-


End file.
